


seraph of perdition

by riptidewaves



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azure Moon Route, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Oblivious My Unit | Byleth, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, White-haired byleth, as a treat, get ready for some delicious oblivious pining folks, they're gonna try and solve twistd here, very self-indulgent seemingly one-sided yearning, with some mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptidewaves/pseuds/riptidewaves
Summary: Time does not stop, even if gods and goddesses die.It is the Imperial year 1196, and Byleth has been dead for twelve years.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 46
Kudos: 298





	1. awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >   
> "Empires arise from chaos and empires collapse back into chaos. This we have known since time began."  
> 
> 
> — Luo Guanzhong, _The Romace of the Three Kingdoms_

It happened just months after the war ended, and amongst all of the festivities and celebrations thrown in the onslaught of war and devastation that had plagued the land. Mere days after the coronation of The Savior King. Whilst the people were busy throwing their happiness — or what's left of it — into the air, the Kingdom's most trusted tactician, the King's military advisor, disappeared.

None could say what happened. None except the King, who refused to divulge any information concerning the tactician who had so turned the tides of war. 

Whispers exchanged in the secrecy of the dark told tales of how the King had killed his closest ally and friend in his last moment of lunacy. When he returned to his consciousness, his horror at what he had done drove him to bury his tactician in the dead of the night, away from the throes of the people celebrating life. 

Although the tactician’s closest allies in the war, who knew both of them personally, have spoken their outrage at such a tale, rumors still run rampant around the nation. It remains a popular theory to this day, what happened to the King and his tactician. 

Nonetheless, no one could say for sure what happened to the tactician, nor the legendary blade said to have belonged to the King of Liberation. All the people could do was speculate, until the last vestiges of memories fade away. 

* * *

When Byleth imagined death, he didn’t quite expect it to be so dark. And to still be able to experience pain on his lower back. 

He wouldn’t call himself an expert on the subject, but he was quite sure being dead entailed not having a body...along with not having to feel anything anymore. Because of the glaring lack of a physical body. 

Actually, why was he even still able to have a monologue in his head? The last thing he remembered was being struck with the terrifying realization that, _yes_ , he was really going to die. Then, an immense pain that flared everywhere all at once — he remembers not having had the strength to even let out a single scream — and then...no more. 

(Although...perhaps it was only the effect of only having gained consciousness, but he could not remember _how_ he had died. Only that he did, in fact, die.)

If that truly was his death...then, this must either be the rumoured afterlife the followers of Seiros had been talking so much about. 

_Sothis_ , he thinks. Why is his back hurting so much?

There was no answer, no divine revelations making themselves known. Though, he swore he could almost hear her voice, chiding him for being so childish. After a sufficient scolding, she would wonder about the predicament they found themselves in, urging him to seek answers. 

Byleth almost smiles at the thought. Sothis would be outraged at his teasing. 

He closes his eyes, vaguely thinking that if he were to concentrate very hard, then perhaps he would be able to properly hear her. No matter if the last time they spoke was...years ago. Before the - 

The war.

_War._

He had gone to war. With his students. Against the Imperial army. 

_Sothis_ , he thinks again, wildly.

Realization strikes him like a painful arrow shot straight to the chest. They had gone to war, and there had been deaths. Thousands — no, more than a thousand deaths. Piles of corpses lay in the battlefield that heralded the coming of a vengeful king, hellbent on getting the revenge he so desperately sought. 

Dimitri. He remembers Dimitri. Consumed by rage and the ghosts of the past, until he had been reduced to a shadow of his former self. Haunted by unseen forces and unheard voices. He remembers reaching out to him, only to be wholly ignored, or to be pushed away with vicious insults and humorless chuckles.

His father, killed by a girl who turned out to not be the girl she appeared to be. The Church of Seiros, Rhea, his students…

More and more names flooded his head as memories came rushing back all at once. 

_So much blood. Blood fell to the ground, kissing the earth as it poured relentlessly from the bodies of those that killed in order to live. Blood from those who had no part in this wretched war, and those who had been at the very center of it all._

_He remembers sleeping. Tired from the war, and utterly exhausted by the effort it took to rebuild the very civilization he helped build, he retired to his chamber, where he’d been slaughtered as he slept —_

Slaughtered? 

Byleth shakes his head, confused. That wasn’t it at all. His death hadn’t happened that way. Or, at the very least, he did not recall being asleep when he was killed. 

Actually...how exactly did he die? 

...Where was he?

Just then, a loud explosion interrupts his thoughts. Caught in the midst of memories of grueling fights fought in battlefields with loud explosions and screams and the scent of blood filling the air, Byleth jumps into action at once. 

He instinctively reaches for his dagger, unsheathing it and slashing it through the air, the sounds of something breaking reaching his ears as he stands upright.

Bright sunlight attacks his vision, and he is momentarily blinded by the intensity of it. 

Judging from the way his body reacted to the sunlight, he assumes he’d been hidden away in the dark for a long time. Enough to justify a severe reaction to the sun. He cast a glance behind him. Some sort of metal-like casket lay on the ground. He must have been trapped in that for quite some time. Forced to lie in a prone position, which could also explain the terrible aches in his body. It was as if he hadn't moved a single muscle in years.

He looks at the casket a bit more, noting how it looked to be made of advanced machinery. There were foreign words scribbled along the sides of the metal. 

He’d been locked in this machine. Someone had put him in there. 

Byleth carefully looks at the scribbles. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a powerful magic seal, the likes of which he’s never seen before. Certainly it wasn’t in any of the spellbooks in Garreg Mach. 

He wrenches himself away from the curious spellwork. He _had_ to make sure none of his students were hurt, that they were all alright, that they were all safe and sound —

He blinks at his surroundings. Suddenly, as his vision started adjusting to the intensity of the sun’s glare, he realized that he was currently in a clearing in a forest. And not just any forest either, it was the very same forest by the outskirts of Remire Village. The same forest he met _them_ …

“ACK! You _idiot_ , why did you have to let it loose like that? You nearly killed us all!”

Byleth turns to the source of the voices, angry and unmistakably human. There was a group of bandits, by the looks of them, all huddled together as they surveyed a smoking patch of grass a few feet away from them. 

One of them, a timid-looking one, flinches. “S-sorry! I got too excited. The merchant said it was supposed to explode into different colors in the sky…”

The first bandit nearly burst a blood vessel. “Yeah, _if_ you aim it at the _sky_ , instead of your companion’s _nose_ , you moron!”

The third bandit appeared to be nursing a wound on his arm, as he groaned in pain. The first two bandits quickly stopped their banter, as they instead turned their attention to their companion. By the nauseous looks on their faces and the smell of burnt flesh in the air, the wound was clearly a grave one. 

“Is he hurt?” Byleth can't help but blurt. The smell of burnt flesh was unpleasant, and the air was heavy with fire magic that reminded him all too well of the events of the war. He wanted nothing more than to put an end to it.

All of them turn to look at him, surprised. 

“When did you—”

“Yes,” the timid-looking bandit interrupts, recovering quickly. “Please, if you have any vulneraries or concoctions with you...our friend needs it…”

Byleth steps closer to them, holding up a hand. “I know some faith magic. I may not be very good, but I can at least help…”

A flash of light, followed by a burst of magic. Soon, the wounded bandit stopped groaning, turning his arm over and over with a look of bewilderment. Byleth can’t help but notice the scorpion tattooed on his previously wounded arm, wondering why it is that it looked so familiar.

“That’s my first time having been healed by faith magic, that was,” the bandit gapes at him. “Thank you kindly! Er, what’s your name?”

Byleth pauses. He doesn’t know where he is, or what timeframe he had ended up on this time. It was entirely possible that he wasn’t even in the same world he last remembers. It would be in his best interests to stay low for some time and then try to adjust as much as possible. That said, he better make up a name, and quickly. “...I do not know my name.”

_Smooth, Byleth. Real smooth,_ he could almost hear Sothis' scathing remark in his head now.

“Well, names aren’t all that important anyway,” one of the bandits says heartily, after a moment of awkward silence. “We gotta get you something in return now, since you healed up our friend here! What do you say to tavern food, eh?”

Byleth’s stomach rumbles at the mention of food. He doesn’t miss the fact that none of the bandits offered their names either. “I would like that very much,” he replies honestly.

As they walked to the nearby merchant village, Byleth finds out several things:

  1. It was now the Imperial year 1196, twelve years after the war had ended with the victory of The Savior King, followed by the unification of Fódlan.
  2. The bandits knew nothing about the state of affairs in the Church of Seiros.
  3. Business was booming in all corners of the nation, as trade routes were created between bordering nations such as Dagda, Brigid, Morfis, Sreng, and Almyra.
  4. It was nearing their boss’ birthday, and they were trying to set fire magic into the sky in preparation for the joyous occasion. Only, one of them messed up and now they have to find some other thing to give to their boss.



“Your boss?” Byleth says softly.

The bandit nods. “Can’t give out his name — sorry ‘bout that — but he’s a good man. Took care of us when we had nowhere else to go. Treated us like family. We owe him our lives.”

“We do our best to carry out his orders, in return,” one of them says. “Actually, we were just in the middle of doing our regular patrol around the area when one of the merchants we encountered sold us this fire magic spell, and we decided to try it out.”

“ _We_ didn’t decide anything. You decided all on your own, you nitwit!”

The bandit carries on as if he didn’t hear anything. “I was pretty excited about it too. The merchant said it was designed to burn with colored flames and sparks in the sky! In the sky! Can you imagine? That would’ve been a great gift to our boss!”

“You sure can eat,” the bandit who had suffered a wound comments, glancing at the pile of empty plates by Byleth’s elbow. “Hungry, aren’t you? How long has it been since your last meal?”

“Twelve years,” Byleth says solemnly. 

The bandits all chuckle. “We’ve all been there. Times are better now, but life isn’t always easy on us common folk. Growling stomachs are a pain, but, hey. Least we’re all still here, eh?”

One of them lifts a glass of ale. “Cheers to that!”

They toast, laughing merrily at the way Byleth accidentally knocks his own glass of ale too hard, and instead of going into the mouth, goes to his shirt instead. It seems his limbs aren’t quite accustomed to moving yet. Which begs yet another question: had he been locked in that casket for twelve years? 

Twelve years…

Last time, he had gone on a five year slumber after apparently plunging to his death during the attack on Garreg Mach. Was it possible this was another one of those episodes? 

And what of his students? Five years apart had changed them drastically. Twelve years must have changed them further. A pang of regret fills his heart then. He hadn’t been there for them during those fateful five years apart. And he hadn’t been there for them for twelve years either. He fervently hopes — _wishes_ — that they’re safe and are leading happy lives. 

“Anyway,” one of the bandits slams his glass of ale against the table. “We gotta get back to work. It was a real pleasure meeting you, boy. Let’s hope our paths cross again in the future, yeah? That said,” he adds sheepishly, “lads, I forgot my wallet. Do you mind—?” 

An awkward silence ensues as all four of them, Byleth included, fishes out the contents of their pockets. Byleth comes up with empty pockets. 

"We could always make a run for it," one of the bandits suggests, after a pensive moment. 

“No,” Byleth decides. He had gotten extensive training in these kinds of situations, back when he was traveling Fodlan with his father and his mercenary group.

Jeralt had always, without exception, passed out drunk by the end of the night. The following morning, with his hungover face glowering at everyone and everything and the air of doom that followed his wake, the tavern keepers always found it a little bit too difficult to approach him and charge him for money. And thus the mercenary group went on their merry way, never having paid for their drinks.

Byleth suspects they must have amassed over a thousand gold in debt by now. Some of the tavern keepers must have Jeralt’s face on a wanted poster. 

He lays out his plan. “You will go ahead without me while I distract the tavern keeper. In the meantime, I will escape through the window.” 

The bandits stare at him with varying stages of confusion. 

“You’re crazy,” one of them declares, “I like you! Let’s do it.”

“Do you want me to use the remaining of these fire magic spells for distraction? I think I still have some left—”

“For the goddess’ sake, Ed, do _not_ open that damn scroll—”

It was too late. The scroll had already been opened. 

A crackle of magic burst through the air, shattering the easy ambience in the tavern and covering everything in thick smoke that made it difficult to see. Fiery stars slowly rise to the ceiling, leaving behind trails of large glittering sparks, which explode into twinkles of light that rain down to the ground. 

“Run for it,” he hears a hiss behind him. 

Byleth stands there, mesmerized by the display of light before him. Now, he recognizes the distinct smell of gunpowder that fills his senses, and for a moment, he is transported back into a time of warfare. Ballistas, loaded up with deadly arrows that bring death in a rain of shots.

Later, it was upgraded to have magical spells lined up along with the arrows to combat the heavy artillery that was the frontline’s defense. 

He remembers countless deaths of many. Even his students at one point, before he turns back the hands of time. 

To see the same technique being used as a means of aesthetic and for entertainment purposes instead of destruction...it was truly a sign that he had returned to a world where war had left its mark. Where peace reigned. 

In a world like this, Byleth wonders distantly if he even belongs in such. 

So lost in thoughts was he, that he failed to realize that the bandits had taken off, entirely forgetting to take him along in their haste. 

It was only when the smoke cleared out, and hearing the sounds of people in pain, that he snapped back to the present. 

“What just happened? Ow…”

People all around him were lying around with wounds that ranged from very light scratches to fairly severe wounds, not unlike the wound he had healed on the bandit’s arm. From a quick glance, he could tell there were only wounded. No deaths.

Stepping closer to the closest one he could see, Byleth starts casting a standard heal spell. 

Just as he finishes the spell, he realizes that something is wrong. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with the way he performed the spell. He did it exactly the same as he always did. But the magic in his hands were...different. More powerful waves of energy coursed through his hands.

The people were blinking, coming back to their senses, apparently all healed and rejuvenated. A single heal spell had managed to heal a fair amount of people in range.

Had he possibly done a fortify spell? 

Byleth studies his hands closely. The magic was definitely more powerful than before. He was never able to do a fortify spell in the past. His limited array of healing spells had only ever included the standard heal spell and the stronger recover spell. At least, from what he could recall.

For now, his fragmented memory could not be relied on. 

He would have to make do without it for the time being. Operating entirely on instincts, he gently guides all of the people back to their feet. Some of them were wincing, still clearly hurting from the onslaught of magic that burned through the air, but otherwise fine. 

“Are you alright?” He asks one of them in a low voice. 

The woman groans. “F-fine. I’m fine! More importantly, who were those fools who unleashed those fire spells out of nowhere?”

Byleth says nothing. Once he’s sure that everyone was more or less back on their feet — some refused to get off of the ground, clearly convinced that this was just a figment of their drunken stupor — he quietly slips through the window on the west side of the building. 

Walking quickly to put as much distance between him and the unpaid tab at the tavern, he decides that, first of all, what he needs is information. 

Although he recognized the outskirts of Remire Village, he didn’t recognize the path they walked to get to the merchant village at all. With the looming visage of Oghma mountains still clearly in view from where he stood, it was safe to assume that he was in what used to be the Adrestrian Empire territory, near the borders of the western Kingdom. 

He died. From what cause, he couldn’t quite tell yet. And then he woke up, trapped in a strange metal box that contained an even stranger inscription at the hem, clearly meant to be a spell of sorts. 

As he mulls over these thoughts, he happened to glance at a vendor shop carrying a mirror. He stops abruptly.

Byleth takes a closer look at his reflection.

His hair had grown considerably longer. Not only that, it was stark _white._ He was dressed in his own plain clothes, without any armor on. He looked exactly the same as he did years ago. But with considerably paler hair.

He remembers having had dark hair before. And then, then…

There was a girl. A girl he hated, with an anger that burned intensely, filling his entire body with unbridled wrath. There was a chase in the woods, as he fixated on the girl’s neck, clearly in sight. Every move was calculated. He had studied the woods beforehand. Very soon, they will come upon a clearing, and the girl would have nowhere else to hide. 

He raised his blade, relishing in the fear that shone through her eyes — but then, _Solon_ appeared. He had reached into the girl’s chest, pulled out — a stone? — and then crushed it. It all happened in a span of seconds, but Byleth had watched the whole thing with building fury. 

How dare he, he remembers thinking. How dare he kill her before he did. 

Then, Solon raised his arms. “Begone with you... _F_ _ell Star._ ” 

Byleth was plunged into the darkness. He couldn't hear, couldn't see. All he could feel was the terrible rage still erupting in his chest, thretening to engulf him in promises of bloodshed and revenge. 

Sothis was talking. She was saying something about the eternal darkness that awaited them, of fallen gods, and of choices. But for the life of him, Byleth couldn't undertand a single thing. There was a ringing in his ears that hadn't stopped since he saw his father fall to his death. 

Sothis raised her hand, and then he, unthinkingly, reached for her as well. 

Then, magnificent power coursed through his veins. Fragments of memories of a world forgotten linked with his own, and he could tell that they belonged to Sothis.

He raised his blade once more, and tore a hole into space, back into the world he had been evicted. 

His hair had turned a lighter shade then. Not exactly white, but pale green. 

...

Perhaps something similar had happened, to have his hair turn pale like this. 

“Ah, interested in my wares, are you?” A woman suddenly appears beside his elbow. Byleth starts. She winks at him. “I sell all kinds of makeup, good sir.”

Blinking, he stares at the vendor he had apparently been ogling for several minutes. It was an assortment of cosmetic products, ranging from brushes to tiny colorful bottles containing different shades of color. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, bowing shortly. “I don’t have money with me.”

The merchant deflates. “Could’ve sworn he was some swanky rich noble…” she mutters, before glancing at him thoughtfully. “Actually...hmmm. Your face would actually be perfect to test it on. Yes, yes. I can see it.” 

She grins at him. “Do you have time to indulge a merchant? Mind taking a seat for me? You look like you’ve got all the time in the world, and well, there’s this particular bunch of makeup I concocted the other day and I’ve been _dying_ to test it out on someone before selling it. ‘Course, it might have some not-so-good side effects, might even _burn_ your skin, but no matter! I have a potion for that! C’mon, have a seat!”

Unperturbed, Byleth takes a seat. He does have all the time in the world. 

The merchant immediately leans in to look at his face, gaze critical. “Skin appears to be alright. No need for coverage. Eye shape is good, perhaps slight enhancement? Lips have seen better days.” Muttering to herself, she procures a set of cosmetic goods from her satchel. 

A sense of familiarity washes over him. This had happened before. Not to him, but to an unsuspecting Ingrid. 

It was the night before the ball, and Mercedes and Annette had tasked him with tracking down Ingrid, who had made herself scarce for the whole month beforehand. Byleth had indeed tracked her down, but not without difficulty. 

He had had to lure her out with the promise of her favorite meal at the dining hall, and as soon as she sat down and was distracted by the aroma of all the food, he bolted straight for Mercedes. She had shot up, and with great agility and strength, bodily dragged Ingrid back to her room, both of them not emerging until a few hours later, fully clad in makeup. 

Byleth starts to smile at the memory. 

“ _Goddess_ above, your smile,” the merchant gasps. “It is so strange, it’s just a little quirk of the lips, but it makes my heart flutter! Ooh! You would look absolutely divine with this lip shade. I wonder if you’re thinking about someone you love,” she adds playfully, patting his lips decisively with some kind of paste. “You have that look about you.”

Not someone. His students. He says as much to her. “I was thinking about my students.”

“Your students?” She repeats quizzically, “Are you a teacher? 

He nods. “I used to teach at Garreg Mach.”

It was just many of the responsibilities and duties that had been shoved on him unceremoniously. It certainly felt as much when he was first starting out. But before long, each day felt less like a chore, and more like a day. Like he was getting up in a new dawn, ready to partake in the day’s activities. 

It was certainly one of the best things that had happened to him. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

“Garreg Mach, huh,” the merchant murmurs, now looking at him in amazement. “Y’know, before the war and everything, I used to think the monastery was really just a sort of resort for the spoiled noble kids all over Fódlan. Now that the King has taken over though, and with all the new policies taking place, that place is swarmed with all kinds of kids from all kinds of backgrounds. I was actually thinking of sending my son there to study!”

“I haven’t taught there in a long time though,” Byleth tells her. 

The merchant hums, smiling. “Well, judging by the way your face looks, am I right in assuming that you miss teaching there?”

Absolutely. “Yes,” he nods.

“You must really love working with children,” she carefully brushes at the corner of his eyes, “my own children are terrors, but I wouldn’t want them any other way. My son wants to be a knight, and has taken to bothering all of the neighbors for duels. Honestly! I’ve been fending off complaints every night!”

“One of my students used to be like that,” Byleth murmurs. 

“Really? Did they get any better, studying in the monastery?”

“Not really,” he admits, “but he did really well in tournaments and has built himself a reputation in the battleground. I believe he enjoyed it immensely.”

“Well, I best arrange all the documents for my son to start studying there then,” the merchant decides. “I don’t know much about knighthood and all that. Wouldn’t want to send him off the wrong path. I want him to choose for himself.”

“And with that said,” with a flourish, she puts her hands on her hips. “I do believe you are done! Well, well, look at you!”

At her insistence, Byleth looks at his reflection and is once again struck with the difference in his appearance. Along with his hair color, and the added color to his lips and eyes, he may be taken for a completely different person. He need only shed his trademark clothing and it would be like an entirely new person had emerged. 

Certainly, it would be safe to travel under such an unassuming guise...

The merchant is beside herself with happiness. “I am truly an artist! Just look at the art I’ve created! And for free too! Just, um,” she pauses, “make sure to tell me if there are any ill effects, alright? Burning sensations, appearances of blemishes, anything, got that?”

Byleth agrees. “I will. Thank you for taking the time to do this.”

The merchant gets pink in the face. “A-alright, no problem! Sheesh, with those looks and that makeup...ugh, you’ll have men and women alike entranced...the power I hold in my brush…”

Bowing to her once more, Byleth walks away.

The bandits from earlier had mentioned improved trading relations from neighboring nations. Which could only mean that the borders beyond Fódlan had finally opened. Business was flourishing, and judging from the merchant running the vendor, it certainly seemed she was doing well for herself. 

Although this was only a small part of the new and unified Fódlan and certainly not a representation of the new country Dimitri now led.

Dimitri, Byleth thinks, has truly done well for the good of Fódlan. He can’t wait to see what else Fódlan now has to offer. 

Though the pressing need to see whether his students are alright or not has not disappeared from his mind, other concerns have to be addressed as well. 

He has to find out more about that strange chamber that had effectively sealed him away from the world in over twelve years. Who put him there, how exactly did he die, the whereabouts of his sword…

Ah, that’s right. The Sword of the Creator. 

It had mysteriously disappeared, along with his memories. 

Perhaps one part of the mystery will be solved if he manages to figure out just what kind of magic the seal on the contraption is. And where to start…

Part of him is actually curious as to how the contraption is faring. If the people who had put him there in the first place find out that he had somehow managed to escape, they would likely try to investigate. Maybe even try to hide the evidence as soon as possible.

If he hurries, perhaps he will be able to confront them in time. 

With that in mind, Byleth hastens his stride. 

  
  
  


Byleth’s knowledge of Fódlan's geography was standard at best. All he ever needed to know were the types of terrains and how to best combat the advantages and disadvantages of placing his units in such areas. The strategic locations of each place and the weather conditions, as well as the culture of the region and the ruling lord. Those were the things that had been hardwired to his head repeatedly, especially during the war. 

He was much more attuned to forests, though. Which is how he had managed to figure out that this was the very same forest he met the three lords many years ago. 

Jeralt had been fond of the woods as well, and more often than not, took on missions that happened to take place in forest areas and the like. 

Byleth used to think that it was his father’s affinity with nature that made him that way. But, thinking back on it, Jeralt often only took them to areas that were far from the Church of Seiros’ reach. Forests, mountains, riversides. Anything that offered many hiding places. 

Not for the first time, Byleth wonders about his father and his relationship with the church. 

It was a mystery that had plagued his head for a long time, even before his father’s death at the hands of that woman, Kronya. But back then, there was hardly any time to delve into any kind of investigation, as the stirrings of war made itself known. 

Now was a completely different matter though. He quite literally had time in his hands. 

He resolves to himself to figure things out. This time. 

Just as he thinks this, he’s immediately alerted to a presence nearby. 

He was nearing the clearing he had woken up in. The presence perhaps belonged to someone who knows about his imprisonment. Lightening his footsteps and using the foliage to hide the bulk of his body, Byleth quietly lingers behind a tree, careful to keep his presence hidden in order to not alert the other. 

“Who’s there?” A sharp voice punctures the air. 

Well. He _thought_ he’d been quiet. He frowns at his body, feeling faintly betrayed. He remembers being more stealthy than that.

Better now than never though, while he still had the upper hand of being more prepared. 

Byleth steps aside, assessing the person before him. 

It was Yuri.


	2. dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >   
> "This world, rife as it is of magick of olde, lives on in cycles. Where there is life, there is a circle. When one thing ends, another begins anew. However, I refuse to believe it so. I will break the cycle. We will live."
> 
> —unknown author, unnamed collection of papers.[The back of the poorly binded papers were stamped the words: _Banned from the Church of Seiros for unlawful use of words claimed to be from the Goddess Herself. Send to the archives in Abyss._ ] 

Yuri looked almost the same he did twelve years ago, Byleth notes. His hair was only slightly longer, and was now held back in a loose ponytail that cascaded over one shoulder. His face, so sharp and alert with suspicion just moments ago, slackened with shock. It was an expression Byleth didn’t see on him very often, back then, when they’d met in...

Abyss. 

He remembers Abyss.

Home to people of Fódlan who had fled from the surface world, in order to seek refuge in the church, but instead was turned away. Abyss stretched underground, just below the monastery, and hid a plethora of secrets, from the inhabitants, to the mysterious mages, and the esteemed Shadow Library, which had access to all of the forbidden books in the monastery. 

It made him wonder...when did Abyss come to be? Had it always been that way, constructed beneath Garreg Mach? He remembers Yuri mentioning that they’d had a deal with the church. As long as they don’t interfere in their business, the people of Abyss won’t retaliate. As such, only the highest order of the church officials knew of the existence of Abyss.

“You,” Yuri breathes. There was a certain light in his eyes that hadn’t been there a while ago.

They’d met well before the war began. It was some time before Jeralt’s death, and Byleth had been out strolling the monastery, lost in thought. It was there he discovered the three lords, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, all insisting that it was wiser if they were to accompany him on his walk, lest he be attacked out of nowhere.

_“These are dangerous times we’re treading on, Teach,” Claude said, his easy smile betraying the worry and anxiety pooling in his eyes. “I think it’s better if you have three, ah, underqualified rulers of the nation around you. Helps to have a bit of youthful presence next to you, don’t you think?”_

There they’d spotted the shifty-looking merchant scurrying through a tunnel, that led to the catacombs beneath the monastery. Abyss. Ashen Wolves. The secret fourth house that lived in the shadows of obscurity. Treated as scum by those in the church who knew of their existence solely because the church _itself_ had given up on them. 

Byleth shakes himself out of his memories. There was a time and place for that later, when it was time to collect his bearings and plan for his next course of action. Right now, it was time to collect and gather as much information as possible.

He looks around the clearing carefully. No remnant of the mysterious casket. It seems they, whoever they were, had gotten there before him. But first, what was Yuri even doing here?

“You’re alive,” Yuri murmurs, still looking at him as if unable to tear his eyes away. “I can’t believe it.” He frowns. “You know what? Actually, I can. You...I’ve looked for so many years, and now that you’re finally here…”

“What are you doing here?” Byleth quietly asks. He highly doubts Yuri would be involved in the incident, from what little he could remember of the man. They’d parted on amicable terms, with Yuri promising to help him in whatever way he can, as payment for his helping the Ashen Wolves. 

But then the war had happened, and they saw each other less and less, as Byleth focused all his efforts on planning, strategizing, keeping his allies alive, and Yuri was doing all he could for _his_ people, who, already living in meager conditions, very well couldn’t survive the throes of war and devastation that plagued all resources. 

A flash of something appears in Yuri’s eyes, and is gone in an instant. “I should ask you the same thing. Really, friend? You were gone for just over twelve years. And then you come back looking lik—like—” he halts his speech, clearing his throat. “Like that!”

He was evading the question. Byleth narrows his eyes slightly. Better get straight to the point if he wanted answers. “Have you seen a strange casket in this area?” 

“A strange casket,” Yuri repeats. “That is a strange question to ask. No, I haven’t.” His expression shifts slightly, as he takes on a more thoughtful tone. “Your arrival...the strange casket you're searching for...could it possibly be related to the recent sightings in this area, I wonder? 

“Recent sightings?”

“Demonic beasts were reported to be seen in this general territory,” Yuri informs him. “The villagers were unable to tell me anything else though, because it always ever happened in the dark. That’s all I know. I’ve been sending my people here to patrol more frequently, because you never know when they might decide to attack the nearby village, you know?” 

Oh. Yuri’s people. The scorpion tattoo on the bandits’ arms suddenly came to mind. In addition to being an underground leader of sorts, Yuri himself also led a small gang. Byleth lets out a small hum in realization. “I think I ran into some of them.”

“Oh, I know,” Yuri waves a hand dismissively, “they told me all about it. Ran straight into me and started babbling some nonsense about this and that. As soon as I heard of a white-haired man going around healing people for no inexplicable reason, I thought, hey, y’know what, I better check it out. Sounds interesting. Who would have thought it would be you, of all people.” He tilts his head. “Though I seem to remember your hair being a different shade. What’s the matter, friend? Trying to go for a new look?”

Byleth opens his mouth to reply, then stops, wondering how to best summarize his thoughts. It was no easy matter, especially when his thoughts were all jumbled together in a chaotic dance. He frowns a little.

Yuri, noticing his frown, and possibly interpreting it as unwillingness to talk in such an open place, says, “though I suppose you’re overdue for a visit to our old place. What do you say? Care for some tea?”

Tea sounded...very nice. Byleth finds himself nodding with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Will we be walking there?”

He remembers Remire to be just a short distance away from the monastery. Only several hours of walking until they reached the base of the mountain where the monastery was situated. And from there, they could scale the mountains themselves (if they wanted to give themselves a difficult time; some monks do just that for their daily training) or have a number of pegasi fly them to the top. 

“Walking?” Yuri casts him an amused glance. “That certainly proves that you’ve been away for quite some time. No, we’ll go there by warping.”

“Warping?”

Just as Byleth repeats the word back to him, Yuri reaches into his shirt and pulls out a tome. 

“Magic isn’t restricted to learned mages and scholars anymore,” Yuri explains, “‘course, there are still people who don’t have an affinity for magic, but there’s other technology for that. Luckily, I’m a quick study, who happens to also have an affinity for magic, heh.”

As he casts the familiar spell of _Warp_ , and an equally familiar glow starts to emit from the tome, Byleth is suddenly hit by an intense wave of indescribable emotion.

It was...sadness, perhaps. Along with the confusion that has clouded his mind ever since he woke up. Confused sadness? 

Even now, it seemed he still couldn’t quite grasp how emotions worked. 

He was...sad. But for what reason, he couldn’t particularly say. It seemed like he would have to evaluate his feelings at a later time as well.

For now, he would just have to settle with being sad for no fathomable reason. 

The white glow envelops both of them. Byleth closes his eyes, letting the magic take over his physical body. 

Very soon, he blinks his eyes open at the very familiar classroom of the Ashen Wolves, situated in Abyss. 

“So, friend,” Yuri turns to him, face unreadable. “Care to explain just what the hell is going on?” 

But there was another thing on Byleth’s mind.

“How did you know it was me?” Byleth asks curiously. With his hair and the way the makeup was painted on his face, _he_ thought he looked like a different person. How was Yuri able to discern it was him just by a single glance?

“As if I could ever forget what you look like,” Yuri snorts. “Sure, you colored your hair. It’s nice, by the way. Suits you. As well as the makeup. Nice touch. But nothing gets past me, you hear?” 

Ah, that makes sense. Though Yuri had never expounded on his experience underground, suffice to say he had to deal with a lot of shady people with very shady intentions. It would make sense that he would excel in matters of disguises and deceit. 

“Care to share your thoughts with the class?” There was something strange about the way Yuri was looking at him, but Byleth couldn’t fathom a guess to why. 

“Yuri isn’t your real name,” Byleth remembers suddenly. 

Yuri stares at him. He heaves a deep sigh. “I would commend you for having excellent memory, but your conversation skills? Needs significant improvement, friend. Okay, let’s try this again. This time, maybe at least _try_ to answer my question. Just what happened to you?”

“I...don’t know,” Byleth admits. “I woke up in a...casket. Like this,” he gestures lamely to himself.

“That’s…” Yuri starts to say, before shaking his head, frowning. “Certainly strange. Well. At least you’re here now, right? Got any plans?”

“I want to find out the truth behind everything.” 

The people who did this to him were no doubt skilled mages. The only clue he had was the strange spell that has been woven into the casket he’d been trapped in. It was no ordinary spell too, unlike any he’s ever seen…

But that’s because he wasn’t properly trained in magic, anyway. The only ones he had in his roster were faith-based magic, and a bit of fire magic (apparently he had an affinity for it). And all those were magic he’d learned in Garreg Mach…

Ah, but...Abyss had a library that held an assortment of books that were banned from the monastery. From his brief time here, he vaguely remembers encountering a few books of mysterious origin, which discussed black magic, necromancy, and the like. Perhaps, perhaps it would hold the answers to some of his questions…

“Yuri,” Byleth says suddenly, eyes alight. 

“Y-yeah?” Yuri starts, alarmed, before clearing his throat. “Jeez, I forgot how intense your stares are.”

“Let me use your library.”

Yuri’s brows furrow. “By all means, go ahead. It’s not like we’re tight on security or anything. It’s all open access. Just on one condition.”

Byleth waits. 

Yuri takes a deep breath. “You let me help you.”

Byleth stares back at him. “You...want to help me?”

“That look of disbelief on your face is kind of offending, but anyway,” Yuri shakes his head. “Whatever you think of me, it doesn’t matter much to me. I want to help. You...helped us back then. Remember? With Aelfric. And you even helped with that turf war, despite me threatening to cut your throat,” Yuri chuckles at the memory. “I don’t make it a habit to leave any favors unpaid. So. Let me help. Consider it a...payment that’s overdue, if that makes you smile. I’ll even fill you in on the events that happened while you were gone.”

It was an offer for help, one that Byleth didn’t want to turn down. He could use all the help that he could get, especially in a world that he feels utterly lost in.

But, troubling thoughts plague him. If he was sealed away for years with a dark spell that he didn’t even know the existence of, it was possible that he may be dealing with something, or _someone_ , that is far, far more powerful than them. He does not want to drag anyone into this, if this were the case. As of right now, he had the advantage of a masterful disguise (that only Yuri could see through), which he could use to hide his identity as he searched for answers. 

Sensing his hesitance, Yuri sighs. “Well, even if you don’t give me your permission, I’m just going to follow you anyway. So your choice in the matter doesn’t count.”

“I’m not sure—” 

“The Shadow Library, was it? Let’s go. Do you even still know the way around here? I remember when you first got here, heh. You got lost and ended up walking around in circles for a good two hours. I should know, I followed you the entire time!”  
  
  


Contrary to the rest of Fódlan, Abyss didn’t seem all that different from what little he could remember.

There were still the same cracked paths, the leaking ceilings, the shady-looking Abyssians who all blatantly stared after him and Yuri as they made their way towards the library.

Though, Byleth supposes, they could just be staring at Yuri. All of them hold him in high regard, what with him being their chief leader. The one who’s protected them all these years. Not only that, it seems Yuri had his own trail of admirers, all besotted with his looks. Byleth notices one of the Abyssians turn pink at the sight of him.

“ _Nobles have nearly killed one another fighting or my affections, you know,_ ” he remembers Yuri once saying. 

Byleth glances at the man beside him. Like the Abyss he protected, it seemed like the man himself didn’t change much.

“Do you always stare so openly,” Yuri grumbles, looking at him sideways and just as quickly flitting his gaze elsewhere. The little he could see of his ears were tinted red. “Well? You look like you’ve got something to say.”

Ah. Had he been staring? “I’m sorry. It’s just—” Byleth pauses, trying to reconstruct his thoughts. It wasn’t an easy task; shuffling through memories both real and unreal. “Thank you. For your help,” he clarifies. “...I’m counting on you.”

There was something comforting about being around familiar grounds. The Fódlan that Byleth knew was entirely transformed. Though it was exciting in itself, to see completely new changes in a world that had been so ruled by vicious fighting and endless wars and politics, there was still something unsettling in being surrounded by a new, changed world. 

Here in Abyss, where the people hid from the light of the goddess...it offered protection and the promise of safety. No matter what type of person you have been on the surface. No one can shun the already shunned.

Yuri clears his throat. The tint on his ears had spread to his cheeks. It was a lovely color on him. “Of course you can,” he says brusquely. “I’m a man who always pays his debts.”

Right. About that. “I didn’t help you back then because I wanted a favor,” Byleth says, “I just wanted to help.” 

“That is exactly the most confusing thing about you, did you know that?” Yuri sighs. “Always helping. Always willing to listen. Expecting nothing in return.” 

There was something odd in his tone. It was almost like..he was angry.

“Are you,” Byleth ventures, “are you angry at me?” 

Yuri sighs, and the tension in his body disappears. “No. It’s just—that type of attitude was exactly the reason why you got into trouble, I’m willing to bet.” 

“Yuri...do you know what happened to me?” 

“Twelve years ago, you died,” Yuri says flatly. “Attacked by powerful demonic beasts, one after the other. You didn’t even have remains left to be buried. Dimitri — ah, should I call him His Majesty now, eh, whatever — didn’t want such a death to be made public. Said it was not a fitting way for you to die. He mourned you for quite some time, actually.” 

Byleth pauses at the uneasiness on Yuri’s face. “You don’t have to tell me, if it upsets you,” he says quietly.

“No, I,” Yuri lets out another sigh, closing his eyes. “It’s not easy talking about it, even when it happened all those years ago. But, well. You did say your memories were missing, and that you wanted to get to the very bottom of it. And what are my trifling emotions next to such a noble goal?” 

Byleth frowns. “Your emotions aren’t trifling.”

Yuri chuckles a little at him. “Aw. It’s fine, really. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Your brutal death. I don’t know the situation exactly, only that it wasn’t made public because of Dimitri’s will. I only found out about the truth when I managed to get him drunk one day, and even then, he refused to tell me anything more.” 

Byleth stays silent. Memories were stirring inside him, though none of them showcased his apparent death by the hands of demonic beasts. It felt — wrong, hearing about his death like this. It was like hearing a fabricated story from the mouth of another. 

“That’s not it,” he shakes his head, “that’s not how I died.” 

Yuri abruptly stops walking, turning to look at him in disbelief. “You mean to say...it was all staged? I know what I heard. And I’m completely sure that _Dimitri_ believes that to be the truth as well. Are you saying that there was something else in the factor?”

Byleth mulls it over. The memories he had of his death...he didn’t have much of it, only that he had been absolutely certain he was facing death. And then...pain, like nothing he’d ever felt before. It happened all at once, he hadn’t even had the chance to shout at the person behind him to run…

Run? Had he been...protecting someone?

“I’m sure,” is what he says, “I think...I was protecting someone? And then I died, but...it wasn’t because of demonic beasts.” 

“That...is not how it happened, according to testimonies anyway,” Yuri says, his face turning dark. “Shortly after you….died, the rumor mill was running wild. People were saying that you threw away the chance to become archbishop, because you had allied yourself with the remaining forces of Imperial loyalists. Driven mad because of the effcts of the war, they said. Dimitri shut all of those rumors down immediately. But then refused to say anything else on the matter. The history books that were written by monks to recount the events of war had your name entirely written off. It was like you just...vanished.” 

Byleth stays quiet.

“Sorry, it’s a morbid thing to talk about,” Yuri says apologetically. “But I did really try to get to the bottom of it, back when it happened twelve years ago. The thing is, the only people who know about it are in unreachable high positions, and _very_ tight-lipped. So it took me a while.”

Dimitri...unreachable? “Dimitri does not meet the people often?” 

“Oh, he does. But he only ever does a tour around the country on special occasions, rallying the morale of the people and then interacting only with children. Other than that though? He either disappears inside his castle or goes on diplomatic missions to other countries.”

That does not sound like the Dimitri that he knew. 

“I saw him, maybe once,” Yuri says, “I believe it was three years after the war ended. He looked...sad. Resigned. There was a shadow on his face I'd only ever seen when we were at war. But still, he managed to muster smiles at the public."

Then, he stopped walking. They had reached the library.

Yuri waves a hand at the entrance. “This is it. Wow, this takes me back. Remember when we spent all that time here? You were reading all those books with that other guy...Linhardt, was it? And I was just lurking nearby, trying to spy on you. I was so sure that you were out to get the people of Abyss, heh.”

Byleth remembers that. He remembers spending the little that remained of his spare time during the war in Abyss, reading all that he could on the mysterious books that offered forbidden information. Frequently at his side was Linhardt, who had similarly taken a keen interest in the library. Less frequently was Yuri, who often stood watch as Byleth perused the books. Often from a distance. He didn’t stay for very long, just long enough to be certain that they weren’t up to anything malicious.

But…what was he reading about? 

“Books in the library,” Byleth murmurs. “Banned from the monastery…”

His head was throbbing. It was like a vital piece of the puzzle was missing, and without it, the whole picture just didn’t make sense. It was a frustrating feeling to have.

“That’s right,” Yuri glances at him, concern etched upon his features. “It’s filled with just about all the books the monastery decided to ban. The advisor to the archbishop was responsible for the review of books, so all the books they don’t want? End up here.” 

Abyss was an important factor in his death, he was sure of it, But just what role it played evaded his mind, aggravatingly so. Byleth staunchly wills the headache to go away. It didn’t quite help, but the determination was there. He was here to find _answers_. The headache can wait, along with his emotions and his future plans. 

He lets his feet guide the way. Though his mind didn’t quite return back to this world just yet, it seemed his body remembered well. Soon he reaches a bookcase he knew to be filled to the brim with books detailing forbidden magic. 

He pulls several books at random and settles on a nearby chair. Behind him, he could hear Yuri doing the same. It seemed as though he was really determined to help. In that case...

“I’m looking for a magic spell,” Byleth says, telling him about the inscriptions he found woven along the casket he was trapped in. 

“And you figure it would be a step towards finding the people who did it to you,” Yuri finishes for him. “Makes sense. Alright, I admit, I don’t know much about magic, but let’s see what I can do. Any other clues?”

Byleth flexes his fingers, feeling the magic flow from within him. He pictures the seal in his mind clearly, leaving no detail forgotten. Confident that he remembered it well enough, he raises his hand and lets the image in his mind drift into the air.

Glowing inscriptions — the exact replica of whatever it was that was in his casket — float in the air around them. Yuri scrutinizes the seal closely, his brows furrowing. 

“I’m not an expert or anything, but this looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Yuri says. “Ah, well. Better to hit the books then.”

Without further ado, they busy themselves with the books Byleth had stacked upon the table. 

  
  


Several books containing grotesque images of spells gone wrong later, when Byleth’s head is threatening to burst, he places his face on top of his palm, closing his eyes. Intending to only rest his eyes for a little while, he lets his mind wander.

When he was alive, he spent quite some time here in the library. He was quite sure of that. His body remembered the library well enough. 

But what could he have been reading about? And how important was it to him to warrant spending almost all of his free time in Abyss even in the midst of war? He remembers staying up late most nights alone, but sometimes accompanied by….accompanied by someone else. Someone who was just as, or perhaps even more, fascinated by the collection of books down here.

_“Professor_ ” _Linhardt called, wide eyed even at the lateness of the hour, when most people would be well asleep. “Look at this section here. It seems as though there is another part of history that has not quite made it past the monastery. How curious.”_

Byleth startles out of his thoughts abruptly, jolting Yuri, who had been absently dozing off. 

“Yuri, could you tell me what happened to my students?” Byleth asks. 

“Look, I’m mostly underground, so I don’t make it my business to snoop around in the affairs of those on the surface,” Yuri frowns. “But,” he amends, at the crestfallen look on Byleth’s face, “...I can tell you what I do know.”

Yuri fills him in on things that have happened over the course of twelve years.

After the coronation of the King, the post war efforts took place over the whole country. In doing so, it shed light on a great many territories that had been either neglected, or abused, by the ruling lord. Reports upon reports of said territories reached the King’s ears, and was thus swiftly taken care of.

By and by, as the territories prospered under lords who have been deemed fit to rule by the King himself, he turned his attention to other neighboring countries, hoping to establish trade routes and possibly opening the borders. The first to answer the call was, most surprisingly, Almyra. It took a long while, but eventually Fódlan and Almyra formed a peace treaty, with trade routes being established in both ends of the countries. Rumors say that the king of Almyra was a close childhood friend of the King, which is how the peace treaty was so quickly formed.

Brigid, being the vassal state of the Empire, had been granted independence after the fall of the Empire. There was still a high amount of hostility, as the recent war had taken the life of their princess. The people of Brigid took that as a reason to wage war against Fódlan. Every now and then, a hostile group would charge at the borders of Fodlan, declaring that they would avenge their fallen heir. The King is still working on bridging the gap between Fodlan and Brigid, through countless letters and envoys and diplomatic trips. 

Similarly, Duscur still held a deep-seated grudge against the people of Fódlan. Even the presence of Dedue being granted in a high position in the Kingdom could not be enough to placate their anger. It was still a long way to go, if they were hoping to find peace between the two countries.

All in all, Fódlan was tentatively on its way to ending the centuries long isolation from the rest of the world. With the borders open, and with more trade routes established, the economy was more lively than ever. More inventions, cultures, and ideas were being exchanged everyday. 

The Church of Seiros now welcomes all people, regardless of their background. For several years, after Byleth’s death and Rhea’s retirement, the church was in a state of chaos. Several monks came forward for the position, only to be turned away because they sought to reform the faith itself. Eventually, it was Seteth who stepped up to the position, and continued to do so until the present time. As archbishop, he worked with close correspondence with the King, working to restore the authority of the church. Although it maintained the look and feel of an institution that welcomed all, it still turned a number of “problems” over to Abyss, never again to see the light of the goddess. 

“It’s like washing their hands of the matter and declaring themselves and Fodlan free of the _sins_ ,” Yuri tells him wryly. “Didn’t change much, actually.” 

All of the previous Blue Lions students settled into the capital of the Kingdom, near the King. Yuri didn’t know the exact location and titles they had taken for themselves. Only that the majority of them had taken residence within the Kingdom. Ingrid, for instance, left her house to serve the King as a knight fighting on the frontlines. 

Ashe became the lord of the Gaspard territory. There he lived with his siblings, dedicating his life to the people and most especially focusing his attention on those stricken in poverty. Actually, Yuri was just on his way back from a visit to Gaspard territory when he stumbled upon his men stationed near the remains of Remire village, which led him to Byleth. 

“So,” Yuri takes a deep breath. “Tell me. Do you really have a habit of taking years of beauty sleep after every war that breaks out? I suppose that’s just one of your many endearing character traits?”

Just like a lot of things that pertain to him, Byleth doesn’t know. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but...I think it has to do with Sothis in me.”

Silence.

“Sorry, I must have heard wrong,” Yuri says mildly, “I thought I heard you say that you had the goddess in you.”

Byleth peers back at him, unsure. “That is what I said.”

“Ah,” Yuri nods, then, mostly to himself, chuckles a bit. “You are just so full of surprises, my friend. Endless mysteries. What’s another one on the list then?”

He glances at Byleth, and whatever he sees must have him convinced that he’s about to drop dead any moment now, because he says, “I think that’s enough reading for one day. Let’s both get some sleep in and try again tomorrow, shall we?”

“And tea?” Byleth says hopefully. Yuri _did_ say that they were going to have tea together…

Yuri acquiesces, eyes soft. “And tea.”

  
  
  


After pointing him towards a bed situated in the far corner of the boys’ dormitories, Yuri slinks over to another bed two spaces away. 

Byleth can’t help but notice how Yuri’s placed him in an excellent position that allowed the other to keep watch over him. Perhaps he was still suspicious of his motives. Or perhaps he was afraid he would try to run away in the dead of the night. It was a worry that had a logical basis to it, he supposes. Byleth feels like he could disappear any moment now, like none of this was real, and that this was all just a figment of his imagination. 

Everything in him, every instinct, every fleeting subconscious thought, willed him to do just that. Run away. Live in obscurity for the rest of his life. 

It was strange. He didn’t think he was like this twelve years ago. But then again, he _had_ been fighting a war, so he supposes running away would have had astronomical consequences, especially if one had been a military advisor. 

Could this, then, be tied to the odd wave of sadness that had washed over him before? The headaches as well…

The desire to run away in obscurity...the sudden bout of sadness...headaches. What could they all possibly mean, Byleth wonders. Add to that was the feeling of him not belonging in the moment. Like...he didn’t quite belong in this world. At least, not anymore. 

They all had something in common: he doesn’t remember feeling them, even back then, when emotions were starting to run rampant in him for the very first time. They were entirely new feelings and emotions. It was like...they all didn’t quite belong to him.

Sothis, he thinks, are you still here? Is this you, do these thoughts belong to you?

He waits, for, well, he doesn’t even know. Anything. Even the quietest murmur in his mind would suffice. It would be enough to know that he isn’t alone. 

He waits, and waits, until he eventually drifts off into sleep, unaware of the pair of eyes that had so carefully watched him from over two spaces away. 

  
  
  
  
  


That night, he dreamt of the flames of retribution, lighting the sky in pain and sorrow and painting it in wrath. The earth was scorched and drenched in blood, as corpses lay in countless piles, all dead. There were cries of the innocents, the screams of those who lay between life and death.

She should feel sorrow. She _should_ shed tears of grief, for they were her children. And like children, they had taken to senseless fighting over even more senseless reasons. 

Instead, all she feels is anger. 

This is all because they refused to follow her, instead _choosing_ to defy her and _choosing_ to use the knowledge she had gifted them, into killing her kin, using their bones and their hearts, to soar into heights unknown, higher than the goddess herself. 

Despite everything she did for them...despite the love she poured into every single thing on this earth, _they_ decided to destroy everything. 

Once, she considered them her children. All of them.

Now, they must be punished. _All_ of them.

That is the will of the Goddess. She raises her hands, calling upon the power that had created the beginning of the land and time itself, and lets it pour down in an endless sea of despair that will wash away everything; the anger, the grief, the pain and suffering. Leaving nothing but the clean slate of how it all started.

Everything will be washed away. Except those she had granted the ability to fly. Those that have been birthed from her own blood. 

The Beginning, she is called. And so she shall begin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'll take time to reply to each and every one of your comments, but i swear i will do it eventually!!! ive read everything, i promise, and it makes my heart flutter (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*)
> 
> i want to make sure that i reply to your kindness and thoughtfulness with the same amount..........
> 
> again, thank you so so much for reading and please make sure to keep safe amidst these tumultous times! (ง ´͈౪`͈)ว


	3. cats and tea cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "They fear me, as they gaze reverently upon my form with looks of wonder and thinly veiled terror. Still, they bestow upon me gifts in the hopes that I will favor them. I must admit, it is...gratifying. To be beheld as thus."
> 
> —unknown author, unnamed collection of papers.[The back of the poorly binded papers were stamped the words: _Banned from the Church of Seiros for unlawful use of words claimed to be from the Goddess Herself. Send to the archives in Abyss._ ]

“No tea?” 

“We have hot water,” Yuri says flatly, then, pausing, reconsidering. “Actually, it’s not even that hot. And maybe one or two tea bags that have been sitting in some cupboard for...some time.”

Byleth mulls this over. He doesn’t know what _tea bags_ are. They sound like they might be good though, if the word _tea_ was in it. He shrugs. He’s had worse. “That will do.”

It was the morning after. Byleth had woken up groggy and disoriented, with lingering traces of a dream half-forgotten still clinging to his consciousness. Something about war, but then there was that bit where he became a walking hunk of meat? And Yuri somehow turned into a worm? He was very concerned that it would weird Byleth out but Byleth was _not_ weirded out and he spent the remainder of his dream reassuring him that he would still be his friend. 

It was very confusing.

Nonetheless, it had taken him some time to fully awaken.The sun was already up and about (actually, considering that they were underground, there was no knowing if the sun was even up and about). Enough time apparently for Yuri to do a full patrol of the Abyss and to come back to their shared room, holding two little bags of something he called tea bags. 

“It’s tea leaves sealed in paper,” Yuri tells him, waving the little packets in the air. “Brilliant invention, really. The leaves aren’t actually the loose leaves merchants sell, but the leftovers of the bulk of it. Very economical. It’s cheaper by far than regular tea leaves, and it lasts a long time too.”

Byleth can’t wait to try it. It’s been literal years since he had tea time with anyone. He says as such to Yuri.

There’s an embarrassed tint to Yuri’s cheeks. “Are you now? Glad to see you’re looking forward to it…”

“Are you alright?” Byleth asks, frowning, as he leans in a little bit to inspect the sudden flush on the other’s face. 

“I’m fine,” Yuri coughs, waving him away. He pointedly looks away. “Just, y’know. Uh, cold. We _are_ living underneath the rest of the world, after all.” 

That is true. There is a draft in the air that can only be attributed to being sealed underneath the earth, where the surface air can only seep through in miniscule amounts. It’s at a perfect temperature for Byleth, though. Not too warm and not too cold. Still, if it’s cold enough to warrant a chill going through Yuri’s body, then maybe he ought to do something about it…

He curls his hand. Letting the familiar hum of magic course through his veins as he conjures up little dancing flames on his palms. 

“Uh, what are you—”

He closes his eyes, concentrating. He never had the best precision when it came to casting magic, doesn’t have the finely tuned focus that is absolutely necessary for pinpointing balls of fire. The best he could hope to accomplish was lobbing fire magic at specific enemy units. 

But...something inside him is telling him that that has changed. 

He takes a deep breath. And he releases it.

Tiny flames emerge in multiple counts from his body, spinning around them in an amicable display of warmth and comfort, before settling a good few distances away from Yuri. 

“I trust you enough to know that you aren’t trying to burn the place down,” Yuri says faintly, eyes wide, backing away from the flames only to have it follow him still. “But, uh, as a friend. A _very_ concerned and confused friend. I’m just wondering. Politely. As a polite curiosity. What was _that_?”

“You said it was cold,” Byleth explains, looking down at his hand questioningly. 

“So you conjured fire,” Yuri concludes. He lets out a strangled laugh. 

Byleth conjures flames on his palm again. He offers it to Yuri, lets it vaguely float between them. “I hope it’s enough.”

“It’s—” Yuri clears his throat. “It’s more than enough. Thank you, friend. Seriously. In any case, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I…”

“Let me guess, it all somehow connects with the fact that you seemingly disappeared for twelve years...I can’t wait to get to the bottom of this.”

Byleth agrees. But first… 

“Tea,” he reminds Yuri.

“Right, right,” Yuri sighs, leading him towards what he believes to be the Ashen Wolves classroom. It looked pretty much the same as when he last saw it, with the tables and chirs haphazardly shoved in various places in the room.

There, in the corner of the room, was a table decorated with a tea party setup, and what looked to be a small collection of sweets. Two teacups sat on the table, little tendrils of steam coming out of the rims. 

“It’s not anything special, but I hope it’s enough,” Yuri says.

Byleth turns to him, musters his expression to twist into something that can be beheld as gratitude. He’s never been the best at expressions either, and he highly doubts his newly discovered magical prowess could magically transform his face.

“Yuri...thank you.”

“It’s...nothing,” Yuri says. The tips of his ears were red. 

Byleth silently nudges the floating orb of fire closer to Yuri in the hopes that it would warm him up. He sits down on one of the chairs and stares wonderingly at the tea setup.

To be frank, Byleth didn’t have any solid opinions on tea, the first time. Growing up as a mercenary, his taste often just revolved around hard drinks and whatever water source they managed to find during missions. It was only during his time at the monastery did he develop something of a taste for the refinery of tea. 

It also helped that it was a wildly popular drink amongst the student population, allowing him to connect with them and understand them better with the buffer of sweets and tea on the table between them. 

If conversation became stilted, or had begun to wind down into uncomfortable silence, Byleth would just reach for the sweets, allowing for a respectable amount of silence so as to chew it. It was an excellent strategy. Whoever he was having a tea party with would be forced to watch him eat and deal with having to fill the silence themselves. 

In the middle of his little celebration at having executed such perfect tactics in the past, Byleth is suddenly struck with something warm and fuzzy. 

A cat. 

Snuggling into his lap and clawing a bit at his trousers (ouch…), the cat nudges his arm — he moves it away courteously — and proceeds to make herself at home in his lap, purring contentedly. 

Byleth smiles at the cat. A Gonerilon, by the looks of it. He moves his hand gently across her fur, smoothing it out and hearing the cat mewl a little in appreciation for his efforts in grooming her. 

Cats were rampant in the monastery. During his first days, when he didn’t quite know how to deal with all of the people, all of the students gawking at him, he would sometimes wander around the academy, watching all the cats sprawl on the ground, totally at peace with the world. 

He would just — stand there, watching them. It took him a couple more months before it dawns on him that he could feed them all the fish he’s caught. By then, he had become something of a living legend within the feline members of the academy. 

“Ah,” he suddenly remembers something. A vague memory of standing next to Yuri as he tried valiantly to hold himself together enough to string a coherent sentence, saying something about having a deathly allergy to cats and dogs. 

Byleth shifts his legs, gently taking the cat in his arms and placing her on the ground.

“Sorry,” he says sadly, when the cat meows at him in displeasure. She swats his attempts to pat her on the head. “Yuri is allergic to your hair.”

The cat pauses, seemingly considering his sincere apology for not being a worthy enough bed. She seems to find it acceptable to forgive him, as she lets out a little “mrow” and pads out of the classroom. 

Byleth turns back to Yuri, who seems to have been holding his breath for the entirety of Byleth’s interaction with the cat. Finally, he releases the breath he’s been holding as soon as the cat’s tail flicks out of the room. 

“You remembered,” is what he wheezes out. 

Byleth nods. Of course he remembers. He had an entire notebook dedicated to keeping track of his students’ likes, dislikes, favored weapons, and potential growth. It was something his father had suggested for him to do, seeing as he had an awful memory when it came to people. Eventually, it became a sort of hobby for him. 

“This is actually something I’ve been meaning to ask,” Yuri says, a while later, as his wheezes eventually come to a halt, and he regains a bit of his usual cool composure. Leaning closer, as if sharing a secret between the two of them, he continues, “but your memories...they’re gone, aren’t they? Or at the very least, you’re having trouble remembering things.”

They….were. Byleth has been trying his utmost best to appear as though he was just the same as when he’d been unceremoniously whisked out of existence a good twelve years ago. For what reason he’d been doing this, he doesn’t quite know. Still, it was safer to assume the guise of a lost professor, rather than that of a killed war tactician. 

He thought he’d been doing a perfectly fine job at pretending he did so. Apparently that wasn’t the case. Not only did Yuri manage to see through his disguise at a split second, but he was also sharp enough to observe his mental state. 

What an admirable man. Byleth, for all his meticulous efforts in keeping track of his students’ microexpressions and worries, would have been none the wiser, had he been in his position. Yuri must have truly impeccable observation skills.

He doesn’t even know why he was going through the trouble of (very poorly) hiding his existence, other than the fact that his gut instincts tell him to. Yes, it was certainly safer to lie low for a while just so he could take note of all the things that happened in his absence. But, more importantly...

The people who had done this to him may still be close by. 

He recounts the events that had transpired yesterday. Waking up in the middle of the forest was no coincidence, he’s willing to bet. And in the exact same forest where he’d met the three lords too…

It had the inkling of a much bigger plan. He doesn’t have much to go on, other than his hair, and the strange magic seal, and as well as his newfound powers. And Byleth is still at a loss at how to navigate these mysteries, what with waking up in a whole new Fódlan.

“Let me help,” Yuri presses, looking a bit intense. “You’re gonna need it. What with being gone for _years_ , and with your messed up memories, you’re going to need all the help you can get. I know just about everything that goes on underground. Information is what you desperately need, and I have it. Well,” he amends, “some of it, at least.”

Their search in the library for something that had the semblance of a similarity with the magic seal proved fruitless. Of course, it could also have something to do with Byleth being exhausted beyond compare, as well as Yuri’s own exhaustion from having traveled so far. 

But he highly doubts they’re going to find something there...no, it would be entirely too easy.

He reaches up to rub his eye, which had a little trouble staying open. He couldn’t afford to sleep _again_. 

“Oh!” Yuri leans back, suddenly ceasing from pressing him. “You haven’t washed your face yet, have you?”

At Byleth’s confused shake of the head, he sighs. 

“When you wear makeup,” Yuri starts explaining, “it tends to sit on your face for the whole day before being absorbed into the skin. You never want that to happen.”

Byleth is curious. Absorbing makeup sounds alright with him. “Never?”

“Of course not!” Yuri says indignantly, “The layer of makeup that’s exposed to the outside air is dirty, see, and being absorbed into the skin will clog your pores and make it greasy. That’s why you have to wash your face properly before and after doing makeup.” 

Byleth ponders this. The arts of the face was truly something he had not thought about for very long. He thought that maybe painting on one’s face was akin to putting on a mask. 

Unbidden, images of the Flame Emperor and the Death Knight came to his mind. 

No...he would rather the makeup than don a mask that would obscure his identity.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection on the smooth surface of the tea he has only taken a sip from once. Chamomile, he notes absently.

He still looks quite different from what he remembers. Especially the hair. 

Pale hair, almost a startling white, was not unheard of. In fact, he had two such students under his care that had the exact same shade as he, and they were...they were....

Edelgard. 

Lysithea. 

The both of them had the exact same shade of hair, and... memories of Dimitri confiding in him about his shared childhood with Edelgard, his stepsister... who used to have brown hair, is thrust into the consciousness of his mind. 

Byleth’s head is throbbing. 

“...Byleth.”

He snaps out of his thoughts, straightening up. 

“What are you planning on doing, after this?” Yuri asks.

Byleth stares at the tea on his hands, contemplating. What _was_ he planning on doing? He doesn’t have the slightest clue, other than to hopefully find out more about what is going on.

There was the undeniable fact that he was, or currently believed to be, dead. What business did he have, snooping in on the affairs of the living? If someone were to rise from the dead like he apparently just did, wouldn’t that just cause trouble for the rest of the living population? Maybe he should just play dead a little while longer… 

But then again, sometimes when he allows the memories to fully hit him, he wants nothing more than to see his students once again. To once again insert himself in their lives, no matter how ill-fitting it might be. 

It was a terribly complicated thing to be feeling. And like most things he deems too complicated to think about, he files it away in his head for future organizing. 

He carefully chooses his next words. “I...don’t know.”

Yuri blinks, unable to keep the surprise off his face. “Ah. I would have thought….well, er, I guess it _has_ been a long time, but...wouldn’t you like to see your students again?”

He looks strangely conflicted, which Byleth attributes to the fact that Yuri had given his aid in the war. Having fought in such a large-scale war with allies that he had grown accustomed to, perhaps even become close friends with, would have no doubt placed him in a strange position, what with accidentally stumbling across their professor. 

“I would love nothing more than to see them again,” Byleth admits lowly, staring at the rim of his cup. “But…” he thinks that they would be largely better off without him. Hadn’t they spent a good number of years living without him? “I…”

“Not yet,” Yuri finishes the thought for him, saving him from fumbling for more words. Byleth nods gratefully. “You need more time to get your bearing on this world, no doubt,” he smiles, a little wryly, and pushes a plate of biscuits towards him. 

Shame unfurls in Byleth’s gut. What kind of professor was he, to refuse the first opportunity to see his students after such a long time apart? But, another voice in his head pipes in, what if the professor in question was someone who had nothing left in him to offer anyone? What if, in dying, the world had attained the peace it had fought so ardently for? 

What if, with him gone, people had moved on with their lives, with none of them phased with his passing? It was a truly selfish thought, and deep shame coupled with something else warrs inside his chest. Who was he, to demand such affections from everyone around him?

Considering...that were he not there, the war wouldn’t have happened as it had. 

Millions of corpses, and a thousand more orphans who had their families and homes unjustly taken away from them because of the rulers’ ideals that had stretched far into the heavens. Fires scorched the rich lands that had once housed civilizations and civilizations long gone. Screams of those who had given their lives as their commander demanded it. Like they were nothing but pawns to a game. Like their lives did not matter.

It was him who had issued such commands. Their army had put their unwavering faith in his decisions, and he had _failed_ them, he had failed all of them, just as he had for his father—

“...yleth. _Byleth!”_

Once again, he feels himself ripped from his own head, as he descends back into reality.

Yuri had left his own spot across from him, and looked to be in the middle of shaking him to his senses. They were so close, their foreheads were almost touching, and there was an almost overpowering scent of herbs that seemed to be coming from Yuri. 

A pair of hands gripped his, and that’s when he looked down, to take note of their intertwined hands. 

“I’m...sorry,” Yuri murmurs, voice cracking slightly. “I...didn’t mean to….I mean, of course, you only just came back from — from — wherever it is you went to, probably with no concept of time, even…I didn’t mean to make you remember things you didn’t want to.”

“Yuri?” 

Yuri heaves a shaky sigh. “After the war...it was really common for people to just...sink into their memories. Where they’d be plagued by all kinds of thoughts, sensations. Surrounded by nothing but death and devastation. There’s little else that can bring them back to their senses except perhaps forcing them to ground themselves here, in the present. So, I...took it upon myself to bring them back. Whenever I could.”

The hands gripping his were trembling slightly. Byleth, despite himself, feels himself frowning a bit. Hating himself for making the other man worry so much. He gently untangles his hands from Yuri’s, because he vaguely remembers Yuri disliking unnecessary physical touches, and bends down so he could see his face more clearly.

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he says sincerely, “Please, don’t worry anymore about me.”

Yuri’s face, previously wracked with guilt, darkens at that. “You’re just — impossible. You’re impossible. You just came back from the _dead_. Of course I’m gonna worry! As if I’m just going to suddenly stop worrying just because you told me to. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Ah.” Byleth had apparently said the wrong thing. Worried, he tries to do damage control. “Of course. You have the freedom to do whatever it is you desire.”

Yuri immediately goes silent. 

Did he say the wrong thing again? Byleth anxiously checks the other’s face to see if he had mistakenly hurt his feelings by saying something foolish. 

Yuri...appeared to be blushing. Awed by the sight, Byleth continues to stare, almost completely forgetting to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth next.

“...have to check on my men, make sure they don’t do anything dangerous. I’ll be gone for the next couple hours or so.”

“Okay.”

Yuri pauses. “Actually...I wouldn’t mind if you come with me.”

“Yuri…” Byleth distinctly remembers once forcing himself to come on one of Yuri’s _missions_ , and being given a respectably violent threat in response. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I am,” Yuri says, sounding a little petulant. 

Suddenly, he’s excited. Perhaps he will even be able to wield a sword. 

“Will I be able to get a sword for myself?” He asks anyway, propriety be damned. It’s been a long time since he was able to hold a sword in his hands. 

Yuri laughs a little at the (undoubtedly stupid) look on his face. “Perhaps. But first, let’s get rid of that makeup on your face, hmm?”

  
  


As they walk, Yuri starts explaining further about things that have happened while he was away.

After the war had almost torn Fódlan into near devastation, and with resources being stretched to the limits what with the celebrations that had happened after the King’s coronation, there were numerous problems that arose in such a state of precarious calamity: one of which was extreme poverty.

King Dimitri had his hands full with maintaining the hard-earned peace across the land (dealing with the occasional scuffle with Imperial loyalists), as well as signing new treaties on rulerships and trade routes and who knows what else. Though he desperately wanted to help the poor, as well as the thousands who were orphaned, there was little he could do.

“That’s where we come in,” Yuri drawls, “We struck a bargain, the King and I. He was to pardon all of the Abyssians of whatever deeds they must have done, and for my part, I was to help the poor with whatever I could do.”

“Whatever you could do?” Byleth echoes.

“Shelter,” Yuri replies promptly, “That’s only the first of the many things we have to do for them. Education is another, as well as proper nutrition and upbringing.”

Apparently, that was when Mercedes and her mother came into the picture: setting up orphanages to take in all of the children who would come to them, no matter their background. Upon hearing this, Byleth feels immense pride bloom in his chest. He had absolutely full faith that Mercedes would take care of them well. 

Yuri, seeing that Mercedes had it all taken care of, had looked for other means to help, primarily in terms of education. He was steadfast in his belief that education should be given to all who would come into the world. However, it didn’t come cheap. Scholars have to be paid handsomely, and they didn’t exactly come flocking in droves at the thought of having to teach unruly children. 

“I had to get violent at one point,” Yuri says, and then, seeing the alarmed look on Byleth’s face, quickly backtracks. “I mean, not _that_ violent. More like...a few gentle nudges. Yeah. And anyway, I couldn’t trust just anyone to handle the kids, so I personally had to pick the people who could.”

There was one other thing on Byleth’s mind...

“You said Dimitri pardoned all of the Abyssians’ crimes,” Byleth notes, to which Yuri nods. “How is it that there are just as many inhabitants in Abyss still? I would have thought they would be quite happy to venture into the surface once again…”

Yuri lets out a little chuckle, fondness encompassing his entire demeanor. “The thing is, when they heard about it, most of them just simply refused to leave. Said Abyss was their home, and was I going to be cruel and kick them out of their last home?”

Byleth thinks back on all of the Abyssians. Some of them had quite questionable origins, most were thugs and bandits who had gone through unfortunate events. There was no doubt that some of them had even been murderers, but then again…. even _he_ could be considered one, what with his mercenary upbringing, and the war. 

Dimitri…

He must have thought about this too, about how he was essentially freeing chained murderers into the world once more. All in order to help everyone. 

But. Byleth glances at Yuri, who was still animatedly detailing all of his exploits with his men in dealing with children. 

“None of them were particularly good with kids, but they did try their best. I guess. The little ones are still a little terrified of every single one of them, but hey, they’re making progress. Why, the other day, one of my men brought in these things called _fireworks_ and they ended up making the sky bright with colors. The kids were delighted.”

Not everyone in Abyss was bad. And, anyway, who was he to decide who was bad and who was not? Initially, it was the church’s job to do just that...

But by the time the war had concluded, Byleth was now strongly against the idea of the church having such power. Of anyone having too much power, really.

Rhea, for all her benevolence, had ended up striking down everyone who would pose a threat to the church and her followers. No matter who they were, and what their motivations were. As long as they stood opposite the church, they were deemed “evil”. 

That was why, when he was alive, mere months after the war ended, and he was left wandering the lands with nothing to offer except his sword, he….took them in. Those who were hunted down by the church…

...who were they? Byleth’s mind is drawing a complete blank once again.

“Here,” Yuri hands him a small colorful bottle that has the faintest whiff of lavender. “Wash your face with this. It’s specifically formulated to get rid of all the remaining traces of makeup on your face.”

Byleth takes the bottle and carefully listens to Yuri’s instructions on how to properly wash his face. He has to gently lather the contents of the bottle in circular motions all over his face to promote blood circulation. Blood circulation was good, he’s assuming. It probably means that the blood could properly do its job...being blood, that is.

“...you’re doing it wrong,” is Yuri’s unimpressed remark approximately three seconds after Byleth opened the bottle. 

“Ah. Sorry.”

“...”

“...”

“...y’know what. Move over, I’m gonna do it for you. It’s driving me insane having to watch this.”

Byleth, properly chastised, shamefully shuffles over to the side as Yuri steps into his face and pours a small amount of the bottle’s content into his palms. Gently as can be, he applies the product to his face (pointedly using his fingertips), and moves it around in a circular motion. 

This close, he can actually see Yuri’s individual lashes and the exact shade of his eyes. The realization strikes him suddenly, and is so disarming that it makes him once again forget to listen to and process whatever he’s saying. 

“...you don’t want to take too long with it because it’ll make your face look really red,” Yuri was explaining, “maybe around twenty seconds? Or thirty? Anyway, you’re all good. All you have to do is rinse it. And by rinse it, I mean—”

Rinsing. Byleth knows how to do that. He’s cleaned and dressed so many wounds. Rinsing came as second nature to him. He immediately sets to work on cleaning his face. As sure of his movements as a soldier in battle with victory in mind. In this case, victory meant gaining Yuri’s approval. 

“—to get rid of all the remaining cleanser in your face,” Yuri finishes flatly, as Byleth looks at him expectantly, face dripping. He sighs, “That works. Hey there, friend. Good to see you again.”

“I’ve been here all this time though,” Byleth points out, accepting the soft towel that Yuri offers to him to pat his face dry. 

“I meant that as a poetic statement,” Yuri replies amusedly, “like how people onstage usually get off the stage a different person. Shedding the onstage character and getting back into your original person. Kind of like that.” 

Byleth has only ever seen passing caravans of performers, so he can’t say for sure whether he gets it, but Dorothea had spoken of her experience in the opera so reverently that he had taken it upon himself to study it. Speaking about the opera with the other students had given him much insight to the arts of performances, and the unbridled enthusiasm some of them had when talking about it made him happy as well.

If memory serves correctly (it seldom ever does), Yuri is one of those students who know much about the opera. Though it isn’t a topic that is often broached between the two of them, given how diligently Yuri guardes his secrets and his past. 

Well. Byleth isn’t going to demand he expose all of his secrets, not until he feels like he’s ready. Instead, he attempts to play along, going with his very limited knowledge of opera characters (borrowed heavily from Manuela’s exploits).

“I’ve always been here,” he says solemnly, directing his stare into Yuri’s eyes, which he now personally knows the exact shade of. “Right next to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He counts to exactly five seconds. Just when the silence was about to make him think he’s said the wrong thing _again_ , he is very suddenly shoved back. He loses his balance slightly, and has to instinctively grab a hold of anything to steady him. It ends up being a chair, which was not enough to anchor his weight, so the two of them are sent crashing to the floor.

“Sorry,” Yuri, looking very panicked, attempts to pull him back to his previous position. His attempts were admirable, but it only serves to make Byleth dizzier. Limbs were flinging everywhere. “Uh, sorry. My bad. You—caught me off guard. _Hah_ ,” he lets out a laugh that sounded like a cry for help. “It’s not often that someone catches me off guard, you know.”

“I apologize as well,” Byleth says, as he regains his balance and pushes himself off the floor. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He truly hadn’t. The now familiar feeling of shame unfurls in his gut again. It was truly pitiful, how little understanding he had when it comes to interacting with people. On the battlefield, it is alright, because people’s actions and thoughts are all driven by the primal instinct to survive, by any means possible. He could read their thoughts, their motives, as clear as day when they're fighting for their lives.

Off the battlefield was another thing entirely.

He thought that perhaps he’d gotten better, after teaching at the monastery and gaining his students’ trust. 

Apparently that is not the case. He still had much to learn. 

Yuri clears his throat. “Apologies have been graciously accepted by both parties. Now that that’s out of the way, can we please forget about the whole thing?”

“Of course.” Byleth is absolutely never going to forget. 

“Good,” Yuri’s eyes suddenly glint with intent. “Now, all that’s left is to change your clothes.”

“My clothes?” Byleth looks down at what he was wearing. It was just a simple outfit Yuri had given him last night so he could change from his previous clothes. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it, nor does he understand why Yuri looks so excited at the prospect of clothes.

“You’re trying to lie low, aren’t you? Right now, even with your hair like that, you’re still pretty recognizable. I suggest changing into another set of clothes that would obscure your identity.”

Byleth nods, watching as Yuri strides over to a dresser and begins to scour through the contents. It takes a while, but eventually, he returns, carrying with him something vaguely familiar.

“The dancer outfit,” he says, as soon as the memory hits him.

Back then, there had been an annual competition between students of the Officers Academy, aptly named the White Heron Cup. It was a competition both admired and feared by many, and it was a trial in and of itself to convince one of his students to participate. He had actually been contemplating putting Felix in the competition, before Flayn won him over with her sheer excitement and happiness (and Seteth’s malevolent air threatening to end him if he does not comply with her wishes). 

The dancer garb was supposed to be the reward, as well as the usage of the dancer class. That said, there was only supposed to be one winner from three houses, so the faculty decided to make several forms of the garb, so the winner could take their pick amongst the excellently crafted dresses. 

However, since there were too many that were supplied - because everyone had been simply too excited at the prospect of there being a ball - the remaining dresses that were not picked got redistributed. Many of the girls had happily picked one for themselves, and there were situations where the boys were handed a set for themselves as well (Ashe, in particular, was forced to accept his due to popular demand). 

There was also a set that had been delivered to his room, the night after the competition ended. The package was packed neatly, with no signage of names anywhere, but he accepted it anyway. A gift was a gift. Sothis was quick to berate him for being so thoughtless ("What if that was something dangerous?"), but she was also the one to urge him to open it quickly.

He wore it the next day, to show his appreciation for the person who had sent him the gift. Strangely enough, the monastery was a little quiet that day, and no one had come forth to admit that they were the one who sent the gift to his room. He spent that day playing with the monastery cats instead. 

He didn’t wear it again, not because he was ungrateful, far from that, really, but because the times had very quickly progressed from peaceful to the threat of war engulfing the whole country. He didn’t even know what became of his dancer garb after the war (along with all of his belongings), and honestly, he forgot all about it. 

Until now. 

The very same set of clothes he had donned on that day was now staring at him, clutched in Yuri’s arms. 

“I believe this outfit will serve its purpose well,” Yuri says, tone a little too pleased. 

“Did you give this to me, back then?” Byleth asks curiously, as he accepts the clothes. 

“Hmm? Ah, right, well, hm, maybe?” 

What a confusing reply. Byleth busies himself with changing into the clothes. If Yuri says it will help him obscure his identity, then he fully trusts him. 

Yuri coughs. In his peripheral vision, he sees him whirl towards the wall, staring intently at one of the cracks in there. 

“Okay, _maybe_ I was involved,” Yuri says, a bit too loudly. “The thing is, there was a sign-up sheet going around, and its primary goal was to get as many signatures as possible to get the seamstress to make customized outfits for the faculty members. You got the most votes, and it was decided that _you_ were getting that outfit.”

The material was truly excellent, even after having survived a war and twelve years of isolation. Byleth idly runs his finger through it. Very soft to the touch too. The seamstress must have made it with much talent and skill. 

“But there was another problem,” Yuri was saying, “some of the students had offered too many opinions and there was an inevitable clashing of fashion beliefs. Finally, another sheet was being passed around, this time to vote on the designs they liked the most.”

A clashing of fashion beliefs. Byleth has to smile at that. His students were truly very special, every single one of them. 

He fastens the cloth over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do to improperly dress himself and disgrace the talented seamstress. One wrong step and the entire thing would collapse and he would be left there standing, entirely naked. No, he wouldn’t want to subject Yuri to that.

Once he was sure he had done it correctly, he nodded to himself, satisfied. He carefully folds his clothes and puts it on top of the bed he used the night before.

The pause in rustling clothes notify Yuri as well, and he clears his throat again and turns around.

“...great,” Yuri says faintly, after several minutes. His voice cracked a little bit at the end. “Right. You’re ready to go. I mean, _we’re_ ready to go. Come on, no time to lose.”  
  


“I do not think I will ever get over this way of traveling,” Byleth tells Yuri, after they have used the warp tome again and have found themselves in the middle of what used to be the Ordelia territory. 

“Me neither,” Yuri mutters, looking a little distracted as he finishes casting the spell and waits for their physical bodies to materialize. He shakes his head, and, after a few moments of regaining himself, starts walking.

Only, he pauses when he realizes that Byleth has yet to follow him. 

“Friend?” he inquires curiously.

Lysithea von Ordelia. The youngest student ever enrolled in the Officers Academy, who pursued her studies with such fervor and with such excellent precision that she graduated as one of the most talented mages there was. She hadn’t actively participated in the war, not after Claude gave the future of the Alliance in Dimitri’s hands. 

Instead, she disappeared into obscurity, along with her parents. 

Byleth wonders if there was more to the story, if perhaps, she continued her studies and discovered something that would change the world as they knew it. He knew she was entirely capable of doing such a thing, if she were to ever put her mind to it. 

He shakes his head, and follows Yuri.

As they walk, Yuri decides to fill in the silence.

As part of his agreement with the King to secure establishments that would take care of childrens’ wellbeing and those stricken with poverty, he had his men patrol every part of Fódlan they could reach. 

“It’s not as though I have eyes everywhere in Fódlan,” Yuri says, “The Goddess has that covered. But, well. I try my best to station my goons at strategic places, where lands are hard and dry, and not a single crop can flourish. That’s where it’s born.”

House Ordelia had been dissolved shortly after the war ended, with the head of the house vanishing, and without any heirs. It was said that a curse was placed on the territory, because no matter what, the lands will absolutely refuse to flourish; the waters have turned dark and murky; and there were rumours abound that anyone who would walk freely there were sure to turn into hideous beasts.

With dwindling resources, people quickly fled to neighboring countries, where opportunities soon arose as the post-war efforts continued. 

That was how it’s been for the past years. 

That is, until they received reports of a mysterious figure showing up at random intervals. Though initially harmless, the overall atmosphere of a strange figure accompanied by the rumors of turning into hideous beasts joined together to create an exceedingly creepy urban legend.

Yuri’s men have been scouting the area for several weeks, and though they consistently sent reports as agreed, this time the messages were becoming more and more erratic, before slowly ceasing altogether. 

“It’s nothing I have to be overly concerned about,” Yuri says, though the crease in his forehead says otherwise, “They’re stronger than your average men. They can handle almost anything. But still...it’s better to be sure.”

Byleth suddenly remembers something. “You said demonic beasts have been showing up in the Remire forest too.”

“Think they might be connected somehow?” Yuri asks, to which he nods. “I thought the same. Actually, before your arrival, I thought that perhaps it was the work of the remnants of Imperial loyalists, as unbelievable as that might sound.”

“It’s been years since the war ended,” Byleth points out.

“I know, but you never rule out that possibility. And anyway, the Empire was the one who solely controlled those beasts, from what I remember. They were used as the frontliners in most attacks.”

“Humans transform when they come into contact with a crest stone they are not compatible with,” Byleth mutters, his mind flashing back to Miklan. “...into demonic beasts."

The power contained in crest stones — said to be the gifts of the Goddess — could mutilate the humans’ bodies, engulfing them in flames before totally and completely forcing their bodies to undergo a painful transformation, with their minds totally lost as all they can think about is to kill, and to destroy.

Due to how the Church secures all of the crest stones in a secret vault, no studies have shown the true source of power behind the stones. During the academy times, Linhardt had tried his absolute best to sneak in whenever he could, but the monks had retaliated by putting a guard on him at all times to ensure he doesn’t sneak in. It made him very grumpy. Well, as grumpy as Linhardt could be, anyway.

“Now that you’ve arrived, all I’m thinking is that…” Yuri grins a little, “...that maybe this is the Goddess sending in her messenger. Or something. Maybe I’m being a little too superstitious about it, but that’s just how I’m feeling. In any case, doesn’t it feel like something huge is going to happen?”

Byleth agrees. His earlier thought that maybe this was all part of some well-thought out plan may prove to be somewhat insightful.

Just then, Yuri stops and surveys the area. The Ordelia territory, once a civilization home to many aspiring mages and scholars, has turned into an uninhabitable land that many have deemed to be a curse from the Goddess. It was now a wasteland. 

Yuri places his hands on his hip. “Okay. So I’m supposed to find my men here somewhere. Somehow.”

A silence that lasts for a beat too long passes between the two of them. Eventually, Byleth feels the need to break the contemplative silence.

“We could let ourselves be captured by one of the beasts,” he suggests. In his experience, they were usually the ones who walked straight into ambushes, traps, assaults, and the like. This was his first time actively trying to pursue the problem.

Yuri doesn’t even bother trying to respond to his (admittedly) foolish idea. “Alright, maybe it would be better if we think about the urban legend…let’s see...it’s said that anyone who steps foot into the cursed land will immediately meet their doom, in one way or another.”

Byleth looks down at their feet. They were certainly stepping into the cursed land. Just for further clarity, he stomps his sandals on the ground a little more firmly. Stepping into the cursed land twice. 

“We’re here,” he tries saying out loud. “Attack us, please.” 

Maybe saying it politely would make them more agreeable to appear before them. 

Yuri shoots him an exasperated look. “I appreciate the help, friend, but there’s only the two of us. If a whole army of demonic beasts just suddenly up and appears before us, I’m going to have to make a run for it.”

“I’ll help stall for time,” Byleth promises stoically. He means it. Yuri can be very quick on his feet, and it would take him no time at all to be able to make his escape. By the time of his escape, he would have already formulated a plan to help him out somehow. In the meantime, perhaps Byleth could use that time to practice his newfound powers…

Yuri lets out a groan, hiding his face in his palm. “That’s _not_ \- ugh, I wouldn’t leave you all alone - you know what? Nevermind.”

Just then, a voice comes up from behind them. “Hey, boss, is that you? Heh, lemme see that pretty face of yours to confirm.”


	4. the first meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they met, Byleth hadn't slept for _days_ and he was absolutely sure this man despised his guts

The first time they met, Byleth had been meandering around the monastery grounds well after curfew, when most students should be asleep. 

It was the month of the Guardian Moon, some time after he had successfully rescued Flayn and received Seteth’s aggressively heartfelt gratitude. 

It was a nice evening. The crisp air of the evening was cool on his skin as he silently walked along the lake, devoid of anyone foolish enough to walk around in the dark after rumors of a dark reaper had abound.

It was truly a tranquil night. Perfect after having had such a hectic and fearful month beforehand. 

There were also three lords tailing him, squabbling quietly so as to not blow their cover. 

Unfortunately, Byleth had been aware of their presence from even before he started walking. Idly, he wondered if maybe he should report this to Seteth. After all, it _was_ curfew. 

Ah. But then again, maybe, like him, they were also trying to get some fresh air after having had a stressful week. He couldn’t exactly fault them for that. And, besides, it was better that they were following him. That way, he could be their chaperone in secret. 

Secret…..that reminded him. He’d been wanting to ruminate on that man. The Death Knight. Or, as the academy would know him, Jeritza von Hyrm. 

Before the events that had transpired that month, he thought that perhaps — maybe this is just wishful thinking — they could have been allies.

Jeritza had a style of combat that was uniquely his: deadly and atrocious. Each swing of his spear had the intent to _kill_ , to _maim_. Not to mention the bloodthirst that seemed to accompany him every time they clashed blades. It was that. The murderous air he seemed to emanate that immediately roused Byleth’s suspicions, ever since he encountered the Death Knight. 

In hindsight, it was highly dangerous to be regularly sparring with such a man...yet, he had enjoyed it. 

Their duels were thrilling, had sent his body thrumming with anticipation every time. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking that swordplay would give him keen insight to how a person was.

Before...he had thought that fighting was even better than conversing. Had thought the two of them reached an understanding of each other…

Well. That was before it was found out that Jeritza was the Death Knight all along, and that he had kidnapped Flayn for unfathomable reasons 

Actually, Byleth had been kept awake at night recently, thinking about _why_ it was that the Death Knight captured Flayn but kept her relatively safe. Was it because she was a member of the church? Could it be possible that she was just one of the Death Knight's many victims and they had gotten to her before there was any harm that could befall her?

No...it was not _his_ style to wait.

There must be something else. Something, or some _one_ behind the scenes.

Ah. But then again, who was _he_ to know what could possibly be going on inside Jeritza's head? All they've ever done at this point was duel, with very rarely a word exchanged between the two of them. 

What a confusing turn of events.

Byleth had gotten out of bed that evening to check on the underground passage that was discovered in Jeritza’s room.

He was hoping that it would give him some answers….but it looked like it wasn’t going to be that easy. Looking around the passage revealed nothing except the probability of there being more than one secret underground passageway underneath Garreg Mach. 

And if whispers from merchants and some members of the church were to be trusted — murmurs of the church being constructed during Seiros’ time and having more secrets than holistic teachings — then that meant that underneath the monastery were tunnels snaking through the ground, containing secrets upon secrets.

All he had to do was find out more about these underground passages. 

Suddenly, a rustle from somewhere behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. It was followed by a series of furious whispering, and distantly, he could make out Claude’s voice carrying out over the wind. 

He turned back around quickly. 

“Oh, hey, Teach,” Claude greeted him easily, as though he wasn’t just caught being outside the dorms after curfew. “Fancy seeing you here.” He redirects his attention to a secluded wall covering. “Anyway, I think I saw someone passing through a hole here. But that can’t be, right?”

“Claude, you are not supposed to be loitering around outside after curfew,” Edelgard chided, emerging from the shadows. She coolly removed a stray leaf clinging to her hair.

Hastily stepping out after her was Dimitri. “I agree. These are dangerous times for us to be just walking around like this.”

They appeared to be willfully ignoring the fact that they were all supposed to be indoors this late at night. 

Byleth knelt down beside Claude, inspecting the wall. Under his scrutiny, and suspicious prodding, the wall seemed to give way, revealing a hole leading to a seemingly underground passage. 

...there. The passage he was looking for. 

Claude let out an excited whistle. Quicker than lightning, Byleth’s arm shot out and grabbed a hold of Claude’s shoulder and yanked him backwards just as the young lord moved toward the hidden passage. 

After such a dreadfully stressful month, what with Flayn’s kidnapping, Byleth would _not_ let any other students go unsupervised. Not if he could help it.

“Claude, are you certain that suspicious individual you spotted went through….here?” Dimitri asked, peering from behind Byleth. 

Claude nodded. They spoke some more about the risk of going to a “smelly” underground tunnel without any knights to back them up, Edelgard accusing Claude multiple times of just being too nosy for his own good, Dimitri declaring that it was their duty to chase down any suspicious individual, and Claude...being Claude. 

Soon, three other students joined them, and due to unfortunate events (i.e. Edelgard successfully being provoked into admitting how curious she was about the passageway as well), they were roped in too. 

All the while, Byleth was wondering if he should report this to Seteth. Curfew times were a strict monastery rule, he’s heard. But, well. If _he_ was here to supervise, then he would absolutely _not_ allow any danger to befall them.

He nodded, filled with determination, then trotted patiently after his students.

...and then ran straight into an ambush by some kids who looked to be students.

Honestly, he had not been paying enough attention. It was perhaps a repurcussion of how poorly he'd been sleeping these days. Instead of giving his mind and body time to rest, he'd taken to conversing with Sothis and turning over the recent events over and over again in his mind in an attempt to figure out just what was going on. 

Sothis, understandably, was annoyed at his constant probing of her opinions. _What a nuisance he is!_ she would declare, before settling down and trading her thoughts with his on the matter. 

Well, anyway, Sothis was sleeping enough for the both of them. He still didn't quite understand the connection that binded him with her, but apparently, she felt all the things he felt. Including the pure exhaustion.

Even now, if he strained his mind, he could hear her snoring peacefully. He must remember to apologize to her for having to deal with his lack of sleep. She was already sleepy enough as it was...

Anyway, apparently the students had decided that it was time to battle, and, snapping out of his thoughts, Byleth proceeded to map out the area they were currently in.

They were at a severe disadvantage; the enemies had made it clear that it was _their_ territory, and had thus appropriate knowledge of how to best take advantage of the terrain. 

It was located underground too, which would not bode well for flying units. There were plenty of narrow corridors and closed gates too, which they would likely use to restrict their movement. It was clear that there was one linear path they wanted them to take, leaving them with no other choice but to shuffle through in those narrow gaps.

Troublesome, but nothing his students couldn’t handle.

If he looked to his far right, there was a nondescript lever too, which matched perfectly with the gated doors right in front of them. But, there was a reason the enemies had backed them up so suddenly right in this open area, where arrows and magic would freely fall upon them, with nothing to use as shelter. 

It had to be a trick. 

“Do not engage that lever,” Byleth said in a low voice to his students. “Move cautiously. Edelgard, with me to the frontline. Claude and Dimitri, opposite sides flanking the rest. Linhardt, to the back. Ashe, center. Hilda, stick close to Dimitri. That open gate over there will surely bring in enemy reinforcements.” 

His students rushed to their assigned posts at once. 

There were weird floor tiles beneath them, glowing eerily with a light that would temporarily blind someone if they were to take a direct look at it. Byleth supposed that if one were to step on it, it would negatively impact their enemies’ sight. 

Hm. Let the battle begin. 

...

The man named Balthus was at the very frontline of attack. From the looks of it, he appeared to be a brawler. Which meant...it would be best to bait him with armored units or ranged attacks. 

Byleth nodded at Edelgard. A signal for her to go ahead, while he took care of the rogues that had been planning on cornering her on all sides. Claude was already there, ready to provide backup if needed. 

Behind Byleth, he could sense Ashe notching arrows, ready to take aim and fire straight toward the rogues. 

After slashing at the rogue in front of him, he stilled his body enough to allow an opening. Just in time for an arrow to lodge itself on one of the rogue’s chest, just inches where Byleth’s shoulder was. 

“Well done, Ashe. Keep it up,” he said encouragingly, without looking back.

“A-ah! Thank you, Professor….hehe…”

Now, to assist Edelgard. She’d placed herself directly into Balthus’ line of attack, and, readying her stance, prepared a counterattack that would no doubt deal a hefty amount of damage. If it hit. 

Brawlers typically sacrifice armor and defense for mobility and evasiveness. There was a high chance of him dodging a brutal attack from axe-swingers. Ah — but wait, Edelgard was preparing a combat arts technique. Nevermind. It will land its target. 

The problem was the archer that was poised several spaces behind Balthus, obviously ready to let loose a flurry of arrows if given the chance. 

Counter a surprise attack with a surprise attack of your own. Byleth nodded at Ashe, signalling for him to go to Edelgard. Hefting his sword over his shoulder, he quickly crept up to the archer, slashing once. Twice. In rapid succession, until the rogue went down.

On the west flank, it appeared that Balthus was also taken care of. 

“Urgh,” Balthus groaned, clutching his sides. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

That took care of this open-spaced area. The enemies were all routed, in this area at least.

He was starting to get the hang of the enemies’ strategy. 

When launching a surprise attack in an area only _you’re_ familiar with, confusion and disorientation were going to be your best weapons at the start. Placing close-combat fighters at the very front of the plan was a smart move, especially in a dark place such as this place. It would strike fear into the opponents’ minds to see rogues charging at them from such a darkness, leading them to scramble and make clumsy decisions as they fumbled around. 

While the close-combat fighters engaged them in combat, it would allow time for the enemies to launch more reinforcements from the back, until it eventually overwhelmed them. It was a clever strategy.

Well. His students were no ordinary units, after all. It's nothing they cannot handle.

Byleth allowed himself a very brief moment of silent gloating as he rounded up his students for another defensive formation. After this, he will definitely make sure to give them presents for their hard work and effort. 

Alright. They were about to head into one of the narrow corridors. From what little he could see ahead, there were close-combat fighters stationed at the corner, where they were likely waiting to ambush the very first ones to round the corner. 

Plus, the empty section of a room adjacent to it would make a very good spot for a ranged attacker to start picking them off one by one. It wouldn’t hurt to station his ranged attackers near that section of the wall, just in case that were to happen.

Byleth understood very well. He will not let his students down.

Everything after that was well taken care of, even with the monster that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and the two reinforcements appearing from somewhere behind them (Hilda, with a disgruntled “you’re making me _work_ ,” took care of them easily). 

After all was said and done (and everyone was healed of their injuries; thankfully, there were only minor wounds), they came to learn about Abyss, “home to those who shun the light of day”, as Constance put it. 

It was a series of underground tunnels sprawling underneath the monastery. Built during an unknown year, even possibly before Garreg Mach was constructed. Even deeper still was a small settlement of people who had, for their own reasons, made it their homes. 

It seemed like the students, the Ashen Wolves (the secret fourth house?), had little knowledge about the history of Abyss, as well. But, it also seemed like they were in need of aid. Mercenaries were apparently launching attacks on Abyss, and considering the people who could not fight, it was up to them to defend their home. 

“But was a fight really necessary?” Claude asked, partly annoyed.

“Really was!” Balthus exclaimed. “Best way to acquaint yourself with someone is to get into a tussle with ‘em. That’s common sense right there.”

Byleth nodded wisely. Someone _gets_ it. “That makes sense.”

“Er, Professor…” 

“Huh,” Hapi said, mildly fascinated. “I had no idea there were others like B out there.”

Byleth chanced a glance at his students, who were all listening intently to what the Ashen Wolves had to say. He wondered if it would be alright if they could offer their assistance…it seemed like the people of Abyss badly needed help, if they had only a limited number of people who could fight. 

“Enough with the niceties,” Yuri interrupted, “Let’s get these surface dwellers out of here.”

Constance let out a gasp of outrage. “Nonsense! Intolerable nonsense! Why ever would we let slip this chance to acquire their aid?” Out of nowhere she procured a fancy-looking fan she daintily hid her face with. “It rests on us to protect those who cannot protect themselves...and to safeguard our home. To that noble end, I must insist that you lend us your strength!”

From his peripheral vision, he could see Claude and Edelgard ever so subtly hide a wince. No doubt they were probably reminded of certain nobles in their house sharing similar traits with Constance. 

There was a gentle nudge on his arm. 

Dimitri smiled at him. “Come, Professor. The Ashen Wolves offered us a place to sleep for the night. Or to explore, if we so wish. But you must be exhausted, if your gait is anything to go by. Please, allow me to accompany you to the living quarters.”

Somehow, he had once again missed the majority of the discussion. The rest of his students had wandered away in different directions, leaving behind just the two of them.

Byleth wished he could pay more attention, but he could hardly even focus his attention to anything besides battling. He wouldn’t even be able to sleep at this rate. The rush and thrill of the battle had left him far too jittery to rest.

“I’m fine,” he told Dimitri, “thank you for offering.”

“But…” Dimitri looked ready to protest, before catching himself. “Ah...I see. You are still enjoying the after-effects of battle, is that right? Then, if I may bother you for a bit of your time, would you be willing to duel with me?”

Byleth peered into his face, searching for signs of exhaustion. He found none. In fact, Dimitri seemed incredibly excited, if his fidgeting was anything to go by. “Alright, but only for a while.”

They searched for a place where they could safely spar with each other, all the while looking around in wonder at the underground city center that seemed to be brimming with activity and people. 

“What do you think, professor?” Dimitri said, after they’ve wandered around a bit. “This is a most...unique town, is it not? Incredible, really, that those who faced oppression on the surface are able to find sanctuary here.”

Byleth hummed in agreement. 

“Oh, not to say that there’s no helping the situation in Fódlan,” Dimitri blurted, waving his hands, “to do that is our duty and our honor. Even so,” his voice drops to a murmur, “I find the idea rather...lovely.”

It _was_ a rather lovely idea. To be able to still build a home for themselves even after the world had cast them away. 

They managed to eventually find a relatively peaceful place to spar, and although there were a few Abyssians who leered at them when they appeared, they eventually warmed up enough to hoot and cheer as they duelled, even exhanging bets with one another as they fought on. 

Eventually, the people around them started getting bored and left the area until only a few remained. Byleth took that as the time to stop. He sheathed his sword. 

“I’m impressed,” he commented. “You’ve improved a lot.”

Dimitri ducked his head, a private smile on his face. “Thank you, Professor...it is only thanks to you that I am able to improve like this, after all.”

“Not at all,” Byleth shoved back the hair hanging over his eyes, the strands sticking to his forehead because of the sweat he worked up. “It’s all due to your own efforts.”

He turned to look at Dimitri, who was staring back at him, seemingly transfixed. The prince’s cheeks were pink, perhaps due to the physical exertion from their duel.

Suddenly, he was worried he might have taken up too much of Dimitri’s time. 

“I should hear what the residents have to say,” Byleth said, looking around. The hour was late, but there were still quite a few people around. “Find out more about Abyss.”

“Oh! Of course,” Dimitri snapped out of his stupor, looking a bit flustered. “Thank you for taking the time to instruct me even in such circumstances.”

“Dimitri…” Byleth began gently. “It is I who should thank you for indulging me in this moment. I enjoyed it. Truly.”

“You...are too kind, professor,” Dimitri said quietly. 

“Then, I shall take my leave,” Byleth said, “ah. I hope you have a wonderful evening, Dimitri.”

He could barely hear Dimitri’s reply — the prince had ducked his head down again, as he focused intently on his weapon. Knowing Dimitri to have a diligent routine of fixing and maintaining his weapons after every fight, Byleth left him to it after bidding him good night.  
  


Abyss was truly a very mysterious place. 

He had stumbled across several of his students, all too excited by the prospect of exploring a whole new area to even think about going to bed. When they saw him approach, they all started excitedly filling him in on everything they’ve discovered so far. 

Linhardt had even forsaken sleep, as he gazed reverently at the collection of books — forgeries, banned books. Legends, spells, and heresies! he informed Byleth, eyes positively open and sparkling. 

Eventually, he found himself in what looked to be a classroom. Yuri and Hapi were already inside. The former immediately zeroed in on him as soon as he entered the room. 

They exchanged words for a bit, though if Byleth strained his memory, he couldn’t actually remember much of what had transpired that day. He remembered Yuri's eyelids very clearly though. They were lovely, looking as though they were shining a bit. Other than that, he doesn't remember much. 

Only that he had continued to wander Abyss in a kind of stupor, well after the sun apparently went up and he was being called over by three slightly sleepy-looking students, all greeting him a good morning. 

“Good morning, Professor!” Ashe cheerily greeted, waving him over to where they were presently conversing. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Although you can’t actually tell whether it’s morning or not,” Edelgard commented. “It honestly feels more like a ruin the longer I think about it. A ruin shrouded in darkness, away from the goddess’ light...how poetic.”

Dimitri, on the other hand, looked concerned. “Professor...forgive me, but did you manage to sleep at all? You look…”

Byleth waved the concern away. He was fine. He did not feel the need for sleep. And even if he did manage to fall asleep, he knows he would only continue to be plagued by thoughts about _him_. 

“We’re actually on the way to the Ashen Wolves classroom,” Ashe continued, looking a bit worried too. “We were hoping to talk more with the other Ashen Wolves, maybe get to know this place a lot better!”

Edelgard coughed lightly. “An excellent idea. Though, Professor…ah. Well, nevermind." When Byleth shot her a questioning glance, she rushes to say, "would you like to come with us, then?”

Seeing Byleth nod, they strode towards the classroom, chatting amiably all the way, until they eventually came upon Yuri, who appeared to be in the middle of receiving a report. At the sight of all four of them, Yuri immediately dismissed the men, and turned toward them.

“What was that about?” Byleth asked.

“Oh, it’s you,” Yuri said. “It’s nothing. I was just heading off to ambush our attackers. You’ll help with that, won’t you?”

The way he posed the question, not unlike a challenge, immediately got Byleth’s attention. It was a strange tone of voice, and tried as he might to decipher the overall message, he could not. Beside him, he sensed Edelgard stiffening slightly. It was probably something best left alone lest Byleth accidentally say the wrong thing and entirely ruin the mood.

Pretty soon, the rest of the Ashen Wolves came into the classroom as well, all sporting various expressions that mingled between unbridled joy and mind-numbing apathy. 

It was a little bit difficult to catch up with the conversation around him. The ringing in his ears, and the dull throbbing of his head made it harder than usual to hear the words that flitted between mouths. 

The conversation got quieter, and it was then he realized that they were all waiting for him to say something. 

Hastily, he tried to come up with something that would make it seem as though he’d been listening from the very beginning: “We will fight at your side.”

His choice of words, sloppy in execution as they may be, cheered the occupants of the room. It seemed to have garnered their excitement and determination as well, judging from how some of his students smiled at one another.

“Excited, are you?” Hapi inquired, looking pleased despite herself. “Well, we could always use more bodies to throw at our enemies. Thanks for volunteering.”

It was time for battle. 

It was an underground arena where Yuri had decided the battle was going to be held. Far away from the rest of the Abyssians, and spacious enough to engage in fighting without being held back by their surroundings.

Byleth looked around a bit more. It seemed to be a reception area, or what its original use may be for. Regardless, there was a raised podium at the very center of the soon-to-be-battlefield. 

There were also multiple entrances to the place. One, two, three, four. Four entrances all in all. If enemies were to come rushing in from all entrances all at once, it would spell trouble for them. 

Their best course of action would be to gather themselves at the podium — all of them — and fend off the enemies that come to them. 

Let’s see...Yuri had also mentioned that he baited their enemies by sending his men to distract the incoming mercenaries and luring them here and there. If he combined that with his earlier analysis of the other’s overall strategy, then that would mean, perhaps, they would only get to deal with one wave of enemy reinforcements at a time. 

It was undoubtedly crafty, and using his knowledge of the underground as best he could. That was definitely his strategy.

Byleth should adjust his own plans with Yuri, to complement each other’s strategies. If that were so, then it would be wise to place him and his students in front of the entrance where the first wave of reinforcements would come. If he should take an educated guess—

Ah. Looked like the first wave was already incoming. The southeast entrance. That’s where they will first be placed then.

“Go,” he nodded at Yuri, who looked surprised for a very brief moment, then, recollecting himself, led the Ashen Wolves toward the podium. 

There wasn’t much time to prepare themselves for when the enemy forces came crashing into their group, but on the bright side, it meant even _less_ time for the enemy forces to prepare. 

The only defensive unit they had on their side was Edelgard, and the entrance hall was too large for her to block all by herself. 

A disturbing thought occurred to him, though. What if the enemies had mages charging at the front? It would be a very foolish plan, still, but he could never subject Edelgard to that. He should absolutely account for every possible risk. 

“Allow space between yourselves and the entrance,” he instructed his students. “We should be careful; there’s no knowing what kind of enemies they might be.” 

He placed himself at the very front of the entrance, with Edelgard to his immediate left. In the off chance that there _were_ mages, he could take them out swiftly if need be. 

Wait — here they come—

Byleth changed his stance quickly. Adjacent to him, all his students took up their own stances. 

All too suddenly, in just a matter of seconds, there were enemy forces rushing toward them. Far too recklessly! It was too risky of an assault, and Byleth could tell none of them were expecting to come across such a large room so suddenly, but their momentum was too great, and they couldn’t stop in time to defend themselves, leaving them with _far_ too many openings. 

In their panic, they plowed right through their forces, regardless of whether or not they clashed blades with Byleth or his students. 

For a split moment, there was too much action; Byleth attacked with his sword relentlessly, as rogues came one after another. His archers were busy notching arrows into the sky, always careful not to hit their own allies. Dimitri and Hilda, though taken aback, attacked just as much, if not possibly more, with every hit they received. Linhardt was casting healing spell after healing spell, as the barrage of attacks ended up hitting Edelgard more than she could get back at them for. 

It was such a messy assault. 

By and by, the enemy forces started to trickle by, until eventually there was none. 

Though...there were still several of them who managed to filter into the room in the middle of all that chaos. A few of them were by the staircase, and five of them had even made their way toward the podium. 

Five...that’s fine. After their earlier skirmish, Byleth had no doubts that the Ashen Wolves would be able to handle themselves. 

Now, all Byleth had to do was take care of the stray rogues blocking their way, and meet up on the podium. 

All according to plan. 

All he had to do now...was fight. Until he eventually reached a point where he could not. That was the only thing he was good at, anyway.

After that, it was battle after battle. Mystery after mystery. Secrets piled upon secrets. 

The Chasm of the Bound. The Chalice of Beginnings. The Four Apostles. 

Suddenly he had a mother who was _here_. An account of her life, and Byleth’s father, before they united and had him. At Byleth’s careful prodding, Aelfric divulged all he could remember from their shared past.

It _should_ bring him joy. At the very least, it should bring _something_ in him. 

But Byleth is just so, so tired. But no, he cannot fall asleep. The only thing that will coax _something_ out of him is when he is holding his sword and engaging in battle.

Words just go in one ear and out the other ear for him. No processing involved whatsoever. Just mindless thoughts that endlessly circle one another in his head. 

It was hard differentiating reality from false reality lately. 

In an attempt to calm himself down, he started devising tactics in his head. It was easier to just retreat back into the familiarity of things sometimes.   
  
  


Yuri watched him like a hawk. 

Even in his alarmingly empty head that held no significant thoughts ever, Byleth was certain that Yuri did not trust him in the slightest.

Those sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, and held the iciness of someone who had seen death first-hand. He was all smiles and coy jokes, but all the time...his eyes appeared to be saying something else.

Maybe Byleth was just overthinking. He made the same mistake with Jeritza, falsely attributing their regular duels as something akin to friendship. 

Still, even as Yuri talked about romance, and dates, and other things Byleth had never personally experienced before, he thought that the other’s eyes seem to be telling a different story, beguiling him to listen to unspoken words instead.

“It’s a date then,” Yuri said, smiling that strange smile of his, as he straightened his posture. “Don’t forget now. I do hate tardiness.”

“ _Lives are at stake_ ,” his eyes told him. “ _And I don’t trust you at all, but you’re my only hope._ ”

Trust…

Trust was something he only ever had for his father, and the mercenaries he grew up with. He knew their tactics and their skills like no other, and when need be, he had full trust in their capabilities and their actions in the battlefield. No words were necessary between them, and they worked well enough together that it garnered them a small reputation amongst the common folk.

But ever since he started teaching at the monastery, he started feeling more...uncertain. Suddenly, there were people who looked at him strangely, like he was something of an enigma. They didn’t know how he worked, and he had absolutely no idea how social circles worked and how he was supposed to navigate the throes of noble children and impeccably smart children without spontaneously combusting.

...but he had been given the assignment of teaching them and guiding them. In his mind, he had to earn their trust first. To make them see that he has what it takes to lead them well. It was the first step to accepting a job. First, one had to work to gain the trust of a client. Well enough that they would entrust a job to you. 

He wanted to earn the trust of his students, most importantly. He wanted them to trust him fully, as someone who could protect them. The clients they took as mercenaries often hired them because they acknowledged their skills and trusted them to do the job right. This particular job though...was unlike any other job he’d ever taken.

Nonetheless...he is determined to pull through. 

He nodded at Yuri, hoping that it would convey that the message had been received. Words have never come easy to him, but if he put all his thoughts into his actions, perhaps that would be enough. Just like in swordplay, where movements were all it took to understand one another. 

Yuri nodded back, before briskly walking away. 

That was the first time he had taken his eyes off Byleth during the whole ordeal. Him showing his back did not get lost on Byleth, either. It was a show of affirmation.

They have made the deal. All he had to do is do the job right. 

And do the job he did, although he happened to be a few minutes too late. Aelfric had already gotten the blood of the Four Apostles (apparently _all_ of the Ashen Wolves were descendants of the apostles — which was, amazing. After Byleth gets some sleep, he _must_ think more about all of the information that had been thrust to him so suddenly), and transformed into a great umbral beast. 

A great umbral beast who also had the annoying ability to manipulate space, because every time, without fail, as soon as it looked like they were seconds away from achieving victory, they were warped to different areas unexpectedly. And as they scramble to get into position again, the beast had already gotten ahead of them and was recovering little by little, awaiting their meager attempts to attack it again.

It was a hard battle against a foe stronger than any he’s ever encountered before. 

Casting a quick glance around him just to make sure his students were alright, Byleth thought on his options. All this time, they’ve been mostly relying on gambits so that the umbral beast would have no chance to counterattack and deal even more damage to any of the units. 

Hilda and Dimitri were at the frontlines, with Edelgard providing backup as she continually chipped away at the beast with brutal swings of her axe. Ashe and Claude were several spaces behind them, their arrows finding the target one after another everytime the beast looked like it was about to take flight. 

But they were slowly running out of gambits; they’ve tried nearly everything at their disposal and he could clearly see his students struggling with the effort of holding their stances.

He had Balthus and Yuri placed at the very center of the area, so that they could deal with the appearances of the phantoms that seem to be helping the umbral beast with its healing ability. They were the only ones who could land direct hits without receiving damages in turn, but they, too, seemed to be at their limit.

Time was of the essence, and that was one thing that Byleth had on his side. 

“The next time we are warped,” he told Yuri in a low voice, “you’re going to be placed directly beside him. When that happens, switch places with me.”

He said this with dead certainty. The flow of time showed him gruesome images: Yuri, quick-footed and adept with swordplay, fails to dodge the attack coming straight at him, as the beast plows through the rest of them in successive attacks, each more devastating than the last.

It was a future Byleth didn’t stick around for long, unable to bear hearing their screams of pain.

But. With Yuri’s combat ability, swapping places with another unit within his range, they could avoid that future. In the future he saw, Byleth was the only one who was warped to a place that was within his range.

“You won’t last long if he lands a hit on you,” Yuri warned, looking over him with worry. Byleth distantly noted that he didn’t even seem to question how he was able to be certain of things. “I can try to dodge, at least.”

Byleth shook his head. They were running out of vulneraries and concoctions, and Linhardt (placed all the way at the back) could only heal one person at a time. It was a bleak situation they were in, but he stared at the staggering beast before them. It wouldn’t last long either.

“Trust me,” Byleth said. 

He didn’t get to see Yuri’s reaction after that, because as soon as the words were uttered, the umbral beast let out a bone-chilling roar, and the space got distorted once again as they were thrown into different spaces. 

True to his verdict, Yuri was indeed right next to the beast. 

“Now, Yuri!” he shouted, as the beast drew back to start an assault. He readied himself into a stance. Behind him, he could hear all of his students scrambling to get themselves into position again.

The world seemed to slow down, seconds trickling by as though stretched by some unforeseen force. He could clearly see the beast open its mouth, magic crackling through the air, rife with power and ancient strength. 

Yuri stared at the beast, a complicated look on his face. Suddenly, Byleth remembered how Aelfric had cared for them and all the Abyssians, had dedicated his entire life to ensuring that they were all properly fed and housed. The regret, still a new and unfamiliar feeling, panged in his chest as he thought of how he instructed both him and Balthus to deal with the Aelfric phantoms. 

What a heartless decision. When all this was over, he shall be sure to express his regret and apology for forcing them to go through this whole ordeal, all of them. 

Then, Yuri spun on his heel, and suddenly, Byleth found himself in the exact space he had been occupying just a split second ago.

There was no time to waste. He was already in position, preparing to hit the beast with all his remaining power (it wasn’t much; at this point, he could already feel himself succumbing to exhaustion), and he found himself _praying_. 

This was the only way. The only way forward, if they were going to make it out of this alive. All of his students were battered and bruised — Hilda looked to be crying — and he still _wanted_ , above all else, to give them gifts when they go back to the monastery. To spend time with them, teaching them about combat and tactics just as Jeralt taught him, and to have a cup of tea with his father and perhaps, to even talk about Sitri.

He wanted to listen to everything they had to say, even if it was just a nonsensical rant about something he could barely comprehend (several students come to mind, all at once). He wanted to make them smile whenever he presented them with gifts he’d managed to haggle out of the merchants. He wanted, he wanted, _wanted_ —

(Sothis stirred, roused from her slumber.)

Still, he raised his blade, and, putting all of his might into it, sunk it deep into the beast’s flank, right where there was a chink in its armor. That particular area he’d seen Edelgard repeatedly mash her axe against. 

There was a pause. Byleth didn’t know if it was because time itself had paused, or if it was what he was feeling. Sometimes, he would catch phrases like _heart-stopping_ or _heart skipping a beat_ and wonder what it meant. Perhaps they were referring to these kinds of moments.

Ah. His thoughts were wildly veering out of their usual route. Better to redirect everything he still had in him in the battle. After all, they still haven’t won. Not yet. 

Then — a flash of light, followed by a truly horrible screech, distorted from several voices that sounded distinctly inhuman. 

The light eventually faded to reveal the beast’s crumpled form on the floor. 

Byleth looked around again for his students, all of them slack-jawed and staring at him with varying degrees of emotion. Linhardt slumped against the nearest surface, which just so happened to be Hapi (whose expression got flatter), and immediately entered into a state of deep slumber. Hilda broke into a hysterical cheer, and, like a spell had been broken, the rest of his students erupted in sheer glee.

They were all alright, he notes with profound satisfaction. _They were all alright._ Thank you, Sothis…

Mysteriously, his vision at that moment seemed to blur, and he was swaying on his feet. He willed himself to step toward his students, to check if they were any life-threatening injuries, because you never know. 

One step...and another step…

Dimitri rushed forward, a smile threatening to envelop his face, which was laden with dirt and blood. He hastily wiped his face as he ran toward him. “Professor! We did it! We —”

Byleth collapsed.

The next thing he knew, he was standing with Sothis’ face worryingly looking over his. 

“Oof,” she let out an undignified grunt, as Byleth suddenly moved to hug her. “Um! There, there.” After softly petting his head a few times, she started scolding him. “You _fool_. I may have been asleep this whole time, but I could still know the gist of what has been happening. Honestly, Byleth! _Honestly_. Not sleeping for days? _Days?_ ”

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” Byleth explained quietly. 

Sothis looked at a loss for words. 

Then — she started looking into his memories. “Ah...you wanted to talk to me about that man...the Death Knight, was it?”

Byleth nodded. 

“You are not him,” Sothis stated confidently, “You think you are similar to him because you enjoy battle just as much as he does. But that’s just it, Byleth. You like the thrill of battle, because you get to employ tactics and combat to the best of your abilities. That man cares for nothing but slaughter.”

“But…”

Sothis huffed, plucking yet another memory. She hummed. “You think you are a monster. The Ashen Demon, they used to call you. You believe that you are hardly human.”

“...”

“Well, it was somewhat true,” Sothis admitted, “And...I believe I am to blame for most of it. All this time...you have been unable to feel emotions properly all because I have been asleep for so long. It was only recently that I began to stir once again. You were afraid of that happening again, yes?”

 _I do not believe in such a meaningless existence_ , Sothis’ early words came to him.

“Oh, Byleth…” Sothis looked at him helplessly, “Your existence is yours alone. _You_ alone can give meaning to your existence. Mine...well, until I get back my memories, I shall remain here for the time being. I do not particularly mind. One might say I...quite enjoy it.”

“I enjoy it, as well,” Byleth agreed honestly. It was easy talking to Sothis. She seemed to have all the answers to his half-formed questions. And, unlike him, she didn’t have the obfusticating lack of awareness when it came to social cues.

“I heard that,” Sothis told him mildly. “You have _got_ to start having a bit more faith in yourself. Your students clearly adore you, and you adore them in return. There is much to say about the bonds we’ve formed with others that help us keep moving forward. You do not always have to rely on words to get you by.”

“I don't?”

“Think back on all the memories you’ve had so far,” Sothis encouraged. “When one student came to you for advice for their woes and troubles, what did you do?”

“...offered them tea?”

“ _No, you dummy_. You accepted them wholeheartedly. You listened to what they had to say, and you responded with clear thought-out answers that meant you took them seriously. These little ones, sad as it may be, have rarely ever experienced being accepted for who they are. They surely cherish these moments — cherish _you —_ in their hearts.”

“...”

“With that said,” Sothis gently floated until she was at eye-level with him. She held his face in her hands. “Why do you not think they’ll do the same for you? What makes you so afraid of facing them just as you are?”

“I...don’t know.”

“Liar,” Sothis whispered serenely, “You know. It is because you think you are not worthy.”

“I…”

“Because you think they would be driven away, if they saw you as the monster that you think you are. Seeing all their reactions to the Death Knight, someone you saw as similar to you, solidified that belief.”

Byleth slumped. She was right. 

“But, perhaps if you would only look at it from a different perspective. You admired the man behind the mask. Jeritza, was it? Because he harbored the same excitement for battle as you did. Other people saw that too, only they took it as something to be feared, because it was something they could not understand. A single person, in quite different views. Wouldn’t that say more about you, then?”

“My perspectives are unhinged?” Byleth guessed.

“ _No_ ,” Sothis groaned. “You choose to see the good in people. You choose to trust them, regardless of what anyone else says. It could be a fatal flaw...or it could be the exact opposite. It has all to do with your choices.”

“Hmm,” she mused, plucking yet another memory from within Byleth’s mind. 

“ _Trust is a choice_ ,” Yuri said, “ _We’re choosing to trust you._ ”

“That was excellently worded,” Sothis commented. “So, in the end, it is all up to you, Byleth. Will you trust those students of yours to accept you as you are? Or will you continue to hide beneath that mask and refuse to let anyone gain entry?”

“...”

“Oh!” Sothis exclaimed. “It is time to go back to your precious ones.”

“You’re...precious to me as well…”

“... _ugh_ , alright, enough with the tears.”

Byleth blinked. “I’m not crying, though.”

Sothis had her back to him. Her shoulders were visibly shaking. “Stop crying already! Go! Now!”

Byleth felt himself slowly regaining consciousness, letting the familiar flow of time guide him to the correct path. 

“I wonder…why is it that what he feels is so...familiar. It is almost like I have felt that way before…”

Byleth did not know what happened in the next few hours after that, only that he came to with _all_ of his students (yes, he was also including the Ashen Wolves; he decided to adopt them) peering down at him. 

As his vision slowly came into focus, a black gloved hand reached out to shakily push his fringe out of his eyes.

“Oh! I am so sorry, Professor,” The blond blob he was starting to see as Dimitri nervously wrung his hands. “It’s just...I was…. _we_ were all very worried when you fell to the ground as you did…”

“Worried?” Balthus snorted from somewhere on his right. “He damn near took out my eyeball with that lance he was waving around. Never seen a guy look so panicked.”

Byleth moved to sit upright, only to find that there was an arm latched across his torso. 

“...Linhardt…?”

“He cannot be woken up for some time, I’m afraid,” Edelgard explained. “The few times we tried waking him up, he…”

“Went completely ballistic — well, as ballistic as that guy can go, anyway — and healed everyone to their best health and then promptly went back to sleep,” Claude finished. 

“Yes, that.”

A warm feeling enveloped Byleth then. He smiled. “I’m glad you are all safe.”

A hush fell over the small gathering of students huddled over his prone form. Confused at the sudden silence, he looked up. Everyone seemed to be torn between avoiding eye contact or staring unabashedly at him.

“?”

Perhaps they were still troubled by the recent events that have befallen them...in that case, Byleth better—

“I owe you all an apology,” he said, bowing his head. “I have not been sleeping well lately, and due to my exhaustion, it resulted in several poor decisions and sloppy strategies that have caused you all undue harm in battle. For that, and amongst many others, I…deeply apologize.”

“Professor, what are you talking about —”

“Please forgive me,” Byleth said. Struggling to keep his torso still so as not to disturb the sleeping Linhardt, he bowed even deeper. 

“???”

“ _What_ is he talking about?”

“Professor, please,” Dimitri blustered. “There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry for! You were — _magnificent_ — as always in battle. Your commands were sound, and it had helped us through countless skirmishes and relentless attacks!”

“If anything, it’s Claude’s fault...whatever it is. I’m sure at least _some_ of it can be traced back to him.”

“ _Hilda_ —”

“No talking back to my best pal’s little sister,” Balthus leered down at Claude. “She can do no wrong. If she says it’s your fault, then it’s your fault, pal.”

“Yeah! Blame Claude!”

“Off with his head!”

“I like my head attached to my neck, thank you all for your overwhelming, and thoroughly unneeded, concern,” Claude said. Even so, he scooted closer to Byleth. “Right, Teach?”

Byleth nodded. He eyed them all sternly. “No beheading Claude.”

Later, as the Ashen Wolves were dissolved, and all four of them amicably split ways, promising to one day extend their hands for help if they were ever needed, Byleth took a moment to soak in the warm rays of the sun. 

For most of the inhabitants of the Abyss, the sun was something to be avoided. Walking underneath it would mean certain death for some of them (Constance, and Balthus’ endless bounty hunters come to mind), and just plain discomfort for others (Yuri and Hapi).

He wonders if things would change for them, now that they are allowed to walk freely and without any chains limiting their steps. He had promised to take care of Abyss, after all. And he will absolutely make sure that he will do that properly. 

“Professor,” Dimitri said worriedly, as Byleth momentarily lost his balance and staggered a little. He immediately hoisted Byleth’s arm over his shoulder, and gripped his waist more securely. “Please, do take care. Your injuries are still healing. Allow me to help you in this way, at least.”

Claude let out a whistle, eyeing Dimitri’s hold on his waist. “Getting a little bold there, Your Highness. What a scandal!”

“I — Claude, this is not — I am simply helping the professor — _oh!_ Oh no, I see. Am I being too forward?”

“Perhaps you should carry the professor in your arms as well, if you insist on _helping_ so much,” Edelgard added, mirth dancing in her eyes. 

“Carrying…?” Dimitri trailed off, looking a little dazed. A light flush appeared on his cheeks. His grip on Byleth's waist unconsciously tightened. Any tighter than that, and he would surely break Byleth's bones. He was certain of Dimitri's strength. With that in mind, he patted Dimitri's arm in a subtle warning. The grip instantly loosened, with Dimitri offering an apologetic smile.

“ _Oho_ , now what is the prince thinking? Getting a little lost in his thoughts like that?”

“Hm, or if the thought alone is too taxing for you, I will be happy to carry the professor instead.”

“Hey, if you’re offering, mind carrying _me_ instead? I am exhausted beyond compare, honestly…”

Edelgard briskly walked away in response.

Byleth let his eyes linger on the three lords for a little bit more. With the dawn of a new day shining behind them, it bathed them in a golden hue. 

What a perfect day.


	5. the dark bishop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "Although their bodies are weak, and especially so when confronted with raw power, they have the ability to adapt to anything. Survival is their very core. No matter what, they will strive to exist against all odds.
>> 
>> ...of that, I am envious."
> 
> —unknown author, unnamed collection of papers.[The back of the poorly binded papers were stamped the words: _Banned from the Church of Seiros for unlawful use of words claimed to be from the Goddess Herself. Send to the archives in Abyss._ ] 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little warning!! this chapter contains violence and also a minor character death.

“ _Balthus_?” Yuri says his name like one might say the name of a pest they’ve grown fond of over the course of many years.

Balthus beams, then places his hands on his hips. “Present! That’s me! And who’s this?” He leans curiously towards Byleth. “And why do you look so chummy with this guy? Don’t tell me... you finally got over—”

Yuri, with all the agility of a renowned underground overlord, lunges over and promptly knocks the wind off of Balthus, causing him to double over in bewilderment and halt his sentence. 

It all happened in the split second that it took Byleth to blink. 

There’s a glint in Balthus’s eyes now as he quickly regains himself. “As expected of my bash bro! Lookin’ for a fight, are we now? Well, then, feast your eyes on _this_ —”

Before he could finish his declaration however, Yuri had already bent down and swept his legs from underneath with a force that knocked him out of balance, sending him careening into the ground. 

Yuri stands up, emanating a very self-satisfied air. 

What an outstanding agility. Back during the war, Yuri had been one of the speediest fighters he had ever encountered. He had certainly honed his ability even more so than before. 

Byleth has to physically restrain himself from praising him. After all, they weren’t in the academy anymore. 

“Thing is, I’m in debt to the Ordelias,” Balthus explains, a little while later when he had calmed down from asking for a rematch. Byleth had to wrestle him into the ground at one point.

“Figures,” Yuri says. “You can easily count the people in Fódlan you _don’t_ have a debt to. How much?”

Balthus shakes his head. “Nothing like that, pal. They saved my life. Back when I had nowhere to go and had a handful of people out for my blood, they took me in. Fed me. Even provided directions to the nearest inn for me.”

Apparently, several years after the war ended, Lysithea had come to Garreg Mach with a plea to relinquish her claim to nobility. Shortly after arrangements were made and the territory was instead handed over to the neighboring lord (who happened to be Balthus’s brother), the Ordelia family had disappeared. 

That was when the legends of a curse being placed on the land started to surface.The once fertile lands turned into cracked soil. Demonic beasts started wandering into the lands more frequently, prompting the remaining villagers to flee into other countries. 

That was when Balthus came in. 

“I decided to take care of the land myself!” Balthus finishes, beaming proudly. 

“You…” Yuri starts, then blinks. "...huh?" 

“I have to admit, it’s not going very well,” Balthus admits, waving vaguely at the portion of land that appeared to be housing several sad-looking plants. One of them wilts under Byleth's stare. “But hey! Least I’m keeping the monsters at bay! No demonic beast can get past the King of Grappling!”

_Demonic beasts._ Suddenly, a thought occurs to Byleth. Yuri had mentioned a mysterious figure appearing and reappearing with the demonic beasts. Perhaps... “Balthus...do you know of the legend that accompanies this place?”

“Hmm?”

Yuri makes a startled noise, as though he’d come to the same realization as Byleth did. “Oh, you have _got_ to be—” Yuri clears his throat, then tries again. “Balthus. Have you been fending off the demonic beasts all this time? To protect the Ordelia territory?”

“That’s what I said, pal.”

Yuri exchanges a look with Byleth. 

The reports of a ‘mysterious figure’ showing up in the flatlands, along with the numerous sightings of demonic beasts, turned out to be Balthus trying to repay a debt for once. In his own way, while trying to revive the poor soil in the lands. By fighting every demonic beast that comes his way. 

“So that’s one mystery solved,” Yuri says. “Though there’s one that I still have to figure out. Balthus, I have another question to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

“Have you seen a group of men around here? More specifically, my men?”

Balthus scratches his chin in thought. “I don’t think so,” he says, finally, but, “Though it takes me a while to remember things. You might have to wait it out for me, pal. Thinking gives me a headache.”

“Me too,” Byleth agrees, thinking back on all the times he’d had to hold back his thoughts for fear that they would be too overwhelming. Balthus grins at him, "a man after my own heart!" and leads them to the...sad-looking plants that had first caught Byleth's attention.

Before they’d so rudely interrupted Balthus, he’d been tilling the soil and spending some time thinking about how to better nourish his crops. He then turns his attention to the plants and, grabbing a crude watering can, starts to water them. It looks like he's over-watering them. The leaves were looking a little...swollen. 

Yuri walks over to the plants and, claiming that plants grow better when you talk down to them, starts berating the plants. Balthus, clearly scandalized at having his plants be disrespected in front of him, immediately drops the watering can and hurries over to reassure them that they were doing great, simply amazing. 

“You’re never gonna do anything,” Yuri says condescendingly, “see, a plant who can’t even grow. How ridiculous.”

“Don’t listen to that guy,” Balthus rushes to say, looking very distressed. “He doesn’t know you like _I_ do. You’re gonna do great things, pals.”

Byleth silently stands guard by the plants. He starts feeling bad for the plants; having been harassed by a mixture of messages, the plants must be feeling very confused. He starts quietly infusing them with magic in the hopes that it would help them grow. 

The greenhouse plants in the monastery often had to endure a barrage of one-sided conversations from highly stressed monks, students, and faculty alike. In fact, in the book he had pored over in his efforts to figure out how plants would grow better, it is stated that conversing with the plants _might_ help. Nonetheless, it would not hurt to try. So he did. 

...the plants seemed to perk up a bit after several days of him talking to them, so he supposes it should hold true. Or perhaps it was Dedue who had silently fertilized the soil during his absence. 

“AH! Now I remember!” Balthus’s shout interrupts his line of thought. Puzzled, he looked over to where the two of them were conversing with the plants. 

“I did come across some group of people,” Balthus continues, thoughtful. “Though I ignored them because I was too busy with my crops. They might have been your men. Not a hundred percent sure though.”

When Yuri shoots him a clearly distrustful look, he quickly backtracks, “A—actually, yeah, now that I think about it, they were definitely your men! Look, I’ll even tell you the directions on how to get there, that’s how sure I am that I saw ‘em.”

He pointed them to the general direction of where he believed the ruins of the house of Ordelia once were. 

“I don’t go there myself often though,” Balthus admits, uncomfortable. “I’m not a guy who believes in ghosts, but that place is just. Not good for my muscles, I guess. Can’t fight what you can’t see. So I just don’t go.”

Unable to help himself, Byleth gives in to his professor instincts and makes sure that Balthus knows he’s doing excellent work. He’s been keeping all those monsters at bay for all this time, and that has really improved his physique (he nods approvingly at Balthus’s muscles). At his praise, Balthus looks more and more upbeat. 

As they start walking towards their destination, guided by Balthus’s instructions on how to get there (“just keep walking in that direction until you see ruins everywhere; should be hard to miss.”), Yuri starts talking out loud. 

“To be honest, I still feel like this is one big dream that I have yet to wake up to,” he starts saying. Waving vaguely at Byleth, he continues, “I mean. You’re here. After, what, twelve years? A little different, yeah, but who isn’t?”

Byleth lowers his eyes. The truth is, he doesn’t _feel_ any different. If he were being completely honest, he feels more like a blank slate than anything else. Like the memories he occasionally had—flashes of warmth and laughter from his time at the monastery, then later, intense instances of warm blood splattering into his clothes as he runs his sword through a still-breathing body and runs and _runs_ after the back of that man). 

It was like the memories belonged to a completely different person. It was still him, but, sometimes, Byleth wonders if he got spirited away somehow and landed in a different body accidentally. 

“...or maybe you’re still the same,” Yuri says, a little quieter. “You still _feel_ like the same person I know.”

With just those simple words, Byleth immediately feels brighter. It was an affirmation of how he was back before he entered this world again. It was _confirmation_ that he once existed. He wasn’t just forgotten and scraped into nonexistence! 

“I…” Yuri starts to say, before pausing unsurely. Apparently steeling himself, he goes on, “I told you about the time after you...died, that I tried getting information out of Dimitri, right? I...well, there was something strange in his recounting of the story, so I took it upon myself to investigate.”

Byleth waits for him to collect his words.

“Before you left, Dimitri...had been planning on proposing to you.”

Proposing...what? A draft on a new treatise, perhaps? Byleth inclines his head at Yuri questioningly.

“What? What? What are you asking?” Yuri asks anxiously. He was also avoiding Byleth’s eyes, which was certainly strange.

“Proposing what?” Byleth eventually voices out the question in his head, when it looked like Yuri was getting even more antsy with the prolonged silence.

“Proposing...huh? Proposing _marriage_! He was about to propose marriage! What else did you think I was talking about?”

Byleth briefly stumbles upon his next step, at a complete shock. Marriage? Dimitri? With him? What?

“I—I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, because it clearly isn’t in my place to be saying anything, but,” Yuri stammers, which is also another shocking thing to Byleth. Yuri, _stammering_? “But! I was also thinking that maybe it would prompt you to remember...more. About the past, I mean.”

“Yuri…” Byleth says lowly, which seems to startle Yuri even further. “Are you sure? Dimitri was proposing...marriage?”

To _him_? 

“I’m sure,” Yuri says, his tone lilting at the end, making it sound more like a question than a confirmation. The wind blows on his hair, and despite having most of it tied back in a ponytail, some strands still freely cling to his face. 

“I did not know,” Byleth admits, feeling incredibly lost. Dimitri...he was sure Dimitri had never acted anything bordering on romantic towards him. Perhaps Yuri, in a very _un_ Yuri-like way, made a mistake. Perhaps Dimitri was just thinking about _other_ marriage prospects, and he had somehow confused Byleth’s name for someone else’s.

“Well, romance is a bit of a tricky business,” Yuri says, very obviously trying to deflect from the topic. “Especially affection from the students. It can be a bit hard to treat them as romantic interests, I suppose.”

“From the students?”

Now, Yuri fully turns to him, mouth agape. “Oh, come now. Don’t tell me—you never noticed it? All those students clamoring to get into your good graces, casting those smitten looks behind your retreating figure?”

Somehow, this entire conversation left Byleth feeling more and more baffled. He wonders if maybe he _has_ been spirited away, and placed into the wrong body. He certainly would have been able to tell if someone were to become enamored with him, he thinks. He would absolutely be certain of that. No one had displayed any sort of affection for him in the romantic sense.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he tells Yuri seriously. Yuri must be faced with countless people in a single day. It’s completely reasonable to get confused with another face. Byleth has been told of how perfectly he blends in with the background, after all. 

“I would _never_ —” Yuri sputters indignantly, before clearing his throat. “Look. This topic is clearly not going anywhere, so let us just...leave it at that, hmm?”

“It seems we’ve exhausted this topic,” Byleth can’t help but to comment, after a beat of silence.

Yuri lets out a chuckle and the tension seems to dissipate a bit. “You used to say that _every single time_ you finished a lecture.”

They settle into a comfortable sort of silence for a while, as they make their way towards the ruins of the Ordelias. 

The Ordelias. Despite himself, Byleth cannot stop his thoughts from wondering about the whereabouts of one of his students, Lysithea von Ordelia. 

Lysithea had never really been one for social activities, always preferring to loom in the background, buried in dozens of books, spells, and schoolwork. In fact, she had nearly bitten Annette’s head off in the past for daring to disturb her meticulous schedule of study, (secretly) eat cake, and sleep. 

Annette, being Annette… had simply just continued in her efforts on befriending the other student. By and by, the two of them eventually got closer, and even at one point started an avid book club where students and faculty alike would partake in lengthy discussions about lectures. 

(Seteth had to put a stop to it at one point because the book club continued well until the dawn of a new day, because the members got too passionate about their discussions, most of them refusing to stop even for breaks.)

Instead of joining the war, she stayed behind in the Alliance territory, where she helped with the creation of various magical weapons that would be used for destruction. Most of it was dark magic. Unheard of in the predominantly faith-based magic that was popular in the monastery. 

After the war, when Dimitri ascended the throne, he made sure to compensate all of the efforts of those who fought in the war by granting them whatever it is they wished to have, by power of the King. There were countless soldiers who had come forward, pleading for food and shelter for their loved ones. Money, power, status, were some of the more common pleas.

But Byleth remembers Lysithea in particular, because the girl, despite having had a major contribution in the conclusion of the war, simply asked to be left out of the Alliance noble congregation.

After that, she left. 

And now, more than a decade later, she would go on to forfeit her right to noble ancestry, then disappear with her parents, leaving their territory in cursed ruins. 

“ _What matters to me, more than anything, is ensuring a peaceful, quiet future for my parents,_ ” _Lysithea muttered wistfully, seeming as though she had completely forgotten Byleth was there. “I fight for my own reasons, nothing more."_

No...Lysithea would likely never leave their territory like this. Something must have happened, something terrible enough that it would prompt her to flee with her parents. 

“Yuri,” Byleth calls softly, to which Yuri answers back with a hum. “Do you know what happened to the Ordelias after the war?”

Yuri stays quiet for some time, looking pensive. “It’s as Balthus said. Some time after the war ended, the girl relinquished her claim to nobility and left the territory in the hands of the Albrecht House. But...when she left, the territory was just as it always was.”

So it hadn’t always been the cursed ruins that it is now, Byleth guesses. 

“Something must have happened,” Yuri says out loud, finishing Byleth’s thought. “I wondered why. It was only recently that it started becoming so haunted like this.”

Balthus’s plants looked like they were in the early stages of dying, which meant that he had most probably started gardening mere months ago. Though he was no expert, if Byleth were to hazard a guess, he would think that it was perhaps four or six months ago. He might be wildly off the mark, though.

“Four to six months,” is what he decides. 

“You think so?” Yuri murmurs absently. “My men’s reports stopped coming in around roughly two months ago...if something were to happen to them...then I…”

Byleth shakes his head minutely. “We have to keep going.”

“You’re—you’re right. There’s no point in dawdling over what ifs and what nots.”

So. Something had to have happened in the past months, that would ruin the Ordelia territory into just rubble and cursed lands. 

Taking into account Lysithea’s devotion towards taking care of her parents… then it would entirely be possible if there was, to say, a threat inside House Ordelia. A threat so severe that Lysithea would have no choice but to flee with her parents. 

Of course, it was all speculation with no evidence to back it up. But Byleth has a strong inclination to the belief that Lysithea would never just abandon her parents as such. Something had to have made her withdraw. But what _was_ that something? It was so frustrating not having any answers!

“Byleth.”

There was something strange in Yuri’s voice. Byleth immediately looks to the direction Yuri was staring at.

It took him a while to really get what he was supposed to be seeing. But...emerging from the cloud of dust, running towards them at full speed was—

“Demonic beasts,” Yuri says, voice hard. “Hordes of them.” He unsheathes his sword, and then—glancing at him, smiles a little. It was just a tiny quirk of the lips, but somehow, it made Byleth stare at him a little longer than usual. “So, what’s the strategy, friend?”

Objectively speaking, they were in big trouble. There were only two of them going against what looked to be at least _nine_ demonic beasts. Byleth only had the steel sword that Yuri gave him moments before they warped.

Subjectively speaking though, Byleth thinks they should be alright. 

He doesn’t have a plan. 

They were outnumbered. The terrain was to their disadvantage, because of the clouds of dust and debris that coated the grounds, making it difficult for them to even clearly see and move. 

But…

Byleth grips his steel sword. He could feel magic coursing through his veins. The power he felt within him that awoke when he slashed open that casket was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was almost like—he could do anything. He was unstoppable, even. Like the boundaries of reality had been warped to his liking. 

“Cover me,” he tells Yuri.

And then—he darts towards the nearest beast, using his speed as momentum to push himself off the ground, propelling him into the air, where he aims a strike at the beast’s eyes, slashing a bloody gash across its vision. The beast roars in pain, which Byleth uses as his chance to cast two consecutive spells—aimed right at the chest. 

The beast goes down. 

Not missing a beat, Byleth kicks the corpse of the beast towards the onslaught of monsters coming right at them. The huge body of the defeated beast stops them in their tracks—five of them this time.

No matter. 

With a strength that comes from somewhere that doesn’t belong to this world, he launches himself into the air, twisting this way and that in order to gain more momentum. 

There—he sees it. At this angle—it would be good. Gripping the hilt of his sword tighter than before—he could even feel the hilt coming apart because of how tight his grip was—he slashes at their ankles, their cries of agony filling the air as their movement was now severely impaired. 

Their momentum now forcibly stopped, Byleth raises his hand towards the sky. Chanting an incantation he doesn’t remember ever learning, the air becomes rife with magic, as a gigantic meteor appears in the skies, casting everything underneath it in red bloody hue. 

He brings his hand down. 

The meteor crashes into the earth, and into the beasts, leaving behind a fiery crater of mangled bodies. 

Six of them down. 

One beast, hurtling towards him—Byleth makes quick work of. Three slashes of his sword, and then a final, fatal stab at its torso, and the beast goes down as well. 

Two more of them were coming. 

Byleth prepares for a counterattack—before looking down at his sword and noting, rather distantly, that it was now broken. It should be fine; he hurls it straight at the closest monster anyway, striking it right in the eyeball. 

The beast _howls_. 

Now entirely weaponless, he curls his hands into fists, and delivers swift punches to the monster, each punch leaving devastating hollow dents in the scaled body. Pretty soon, it goes down after the barrage of physical attacks, and all that’s left is—

“Byleth, you _fool_!” Yuri’s furious shout comes from behind him. 

Byleth turns around, and almost startles in alarm as he sees the other man lunge at him—

Wait, not _at_ him. Past him. 

Yuri’s fighting style was considered to be a perfect play of sneaky and agile footwork. With his speed and dexterity, he was equal parts zephyr-like, and others, a true hurricane. It was always mesmerizing to see, Byleth had always thought. He darts this way and that way, dealing attacks from the monster’s blind side, very rarely having an attack land on him.

Before long, Yuri delivers the last attack, and instead of sheathing his sword, he abruptly pivots on his heels and stalks towards him in quick, irate steps. 

Byleth cautiously takes a step back, instantly mollified. What had he done wrong?

“Are you out of your damn mind,” Yuri says heatedly, brows furrowed in vexation. 

At Byleth’s confused noises, he simply jerks his head towards his body. 

“You’re _hurt_ ,” Yuri, seething as he is, runs careful and probing hands down Byleth’s body, no doubt checking for injuries. Byleth wants to tell him that he’s fine, but something in Yuri’s eyes makes him pause. “...and most of your bones are broken!”

_That’s strange._ “But I feel alright?” 

Yuri pays him no mind, utterly intent on searching his body for more injuries. They were close; Byleth can almost smell the waft of herbs that always seemed to be attached to Yuri’s person. Was he always carrying herbs everywhere he went?

Satisfied at his findings, Yuri takes a step back and starts casting healing spell after healing spell. As each spell washed over him, Byleth felt his bones re-aligning themselves, and even outright regrowing in some parts of his body. Cuts and bruises were next, and as the wounds closed in on themselves, he could feel Yuri starting to calm down.

“Thank you,” Byleth tells him sincerely. “I did not even feel the bones break.”

Yuri eyes him incredulously. “With the way you moved—it was almost like you had a death wish or something. I could hear your bones _shatter_ from my post—where you left me, by the way, while you went ahead and tried to get yourself _killed_ —and you’re telling me you didn’t even feel a thing?”

Byleth shakes his head. Actually, he was feeling pretty great. Energized, even. 

Making a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, Yuri grabs his hands, inspecting them thoroughly. “The way you punched that beast...that was an otherworldly strength...and each punch destroyed the bones in your fists even more.”

Byleth tilts his head. “It’s alright now,” he tries to reassure the other man, “I’m fine.”

“You kicked a demonic beast and it _flew_ in the air,” Yuri says, looking as though he doesn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. 

Byleth experimentally taps his foot against the ground, only to stop because his sandals have started coming apart. He was essentially walking around barefoot. Oh.

Yuri, noticing this, opens his mouth to say something—but stops short. His gaze seems to have shifted to something over the side, so Byleth turns his head to look as well. 

There was a man lying on the ground, some distance away. What little that remained of his arm had a scorpion tattoo. 

Yuri stills. Dropping his hand immediately, he rushes over to the man’s side.

Byleth follows suit shortly. 

“...happened?” Yuri was saying in a hushed murmur, even in the midst of casting healing spells. There was a gaping hole on the man’s side and he seemed to be struggling to breathe properly. Each breath was more strenuous than the last. Kneeling beside him, Byleth starts casting healing spells himself. 

“Came across...ruins. Got....attacked….by something...we couldn’t see…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the man collapsed on his side. His breathing stops. 

“...healing magic didn’t work,” Yuri says quietly, as he gently places his hands over the man’s lids, closing his eyes. “The injury must have been grave. I...was too late.”

Byleth places a hand on his shoulder. “Look,” he says. 

Beside the man was a familiar-looking stone. As Byleth picks it up, he notes the faint pulse that seems to emanate from the strange stone. It was as if it had a life of its own. 

A crest stone. Said to be gifts from the goddess. For the second time that day, his mind flashes back to Miklan, and how, in forcibly wielding a weapon that pulsed with a different life than his, he had transformed into a beast. A beast they were forced to take down. 

“A...crest stone?” 

Rumors of a cursed land, where anybody who walked freely there would be sure to turn into demonic beasts. If what Byleth is thinking might hold true, then it means that there exists someone in the territory who was turning people into beasts, by forcibly inserting the crest stones in human bodies.

The three of them still currently walking, himself, Yuri, and Balthus, all held crests of their own. This could be the reason why they were still managing to walk.

All those innocent people who had come here of their own volition had been mercilessly tampered with, using inhumane methods. Sadness washed over him, as he thought back to the tragedy that happened in Remire Village, all those years back. 

Senseless fighting, as people, driven by madness and something else entirely, had taken to fighting each other for even more senseless reasons. Those of them that had been afflicted by the madness had had no choice but to be taken down, lest they harm even more innocents. 

Back then...his class had saved as many as they could. But...there were still countless children left orphaned after the incident. People who had seen the death of their family, who had survived the nightmare, who probably thought that...if only he and his class had come just a bit earlier...just a bit…

Byleth shakes himself out of the memories. He had to focus. 

Back during his mercenary days, his father taught him how to detect enemies lurking nearby. It was less to do with logic, and more to do with basic instinct. Prey would often nimbly run away from danger the very moment they sense even the slightest bit of hostility. It was that tactic that helped them survive each day. 

It was also one of the very first lessons he taught him and arguably the most important. One had to know who their enemies were before all else. 

The following years, he had honed that ability until he could safely separate allies from foes within a range. In his mind, blue meant allies. Red were enemies. Everything else that he was unsure about, but held no hostility or aggression, was classified as green. 

And at this very moment, there was a slightest hint of red. Watching from a safe distance. 

Byleth makes sure to lower his voice as he says, “Yuri. Warp me to that area behind the large ruins.”

There must have been something in his voice that set off warning bells to Yuri, because as he kneels down to cover his face in the man’s tattered clothes in a show of emotional vulnerability to anyone who was watching, he discreetly pulls out the warp tome. 

As soon as he is warped, Byleth immediately spots the previously hidden mage. Dressed in a dark ensemble, with a peculiar bird-shaped mask, the dark bishop whirls around in alarm at being caught unawares.

Byleth grabs a fistful of the dark bishop’s garb before the other could even think of doing anything else. 

A burst of light follows behind him, and judging by the sounds, or lack thereof, he knows it to be Yuri. As quick and seamless as a breath of wind, Yuri materializes behind the dark bishop, holding a knife to their throat. “State your name and where your allegiance lies.”

“I—I would rather die,” the dark bishop chokes from behind the mask, “than to speak my name to foul beasts.”

“Oh?” Yuri edges the knife closer to the dark bishop’s throat, a thin slice now appearing by the knife’s edge. Curiously, there was no blood that appeared in the wake of such a wound.

“Shall I guess then, since you refuse to fill in the gaps?” Yuri inquires, voice deadly calm. With his other hand, the one not holding a knife, he skillfully brandishes his sword, which he then uses to slice off the dark bishop’s finger.

The answering howl of pain does nothing to deter Yuri, because he slices off another finger. “Or not. I am rather bad at guessing games, I have to admit. Oh well, there are better ways of making someone talk. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The dark bishop dissolves into pained whimpers. “Th...the light…”

Yuri leans in closer, his purr almost inaudible. “You’ve still got eight fingers. Isn’t that great?”

“Odesse,” the dark bishop gasps, “my name. Odesse.”

Something clicks in Byleth’s mind then, as he continues to take in the dark bishop’s appearance. “Agarthan,” he says, the name coming to his tongue easily. 

The dark bishop startles, looking at him. “That name—you—that hair…”

And suddenly—they scream. A darkness appears in their chest. 

Yuri instinctively drops his hold on the dark bishop, and the two of them watch in abstract horror as the dark bishop seemingly gets swallowed by the increasing darkness that has enveloped them. 

In mere seconds, the dark bishop disappears, leaving behind no trace of their ever being here. 

Byleth kneels down, inspecting the ground on which the dark bishop had been standing prior. The footprints were still there, from their earlier scuffle. But everything else had disappeared into nothingness.

“Magic,” he comments. “Self-inflicted, by the looks of it.”

Yuri, on the other hand, had more pressing matters to think about. “I have to bury my men,” he says quietly. “Properly. They—deserved that much.”

_His men_?

Then—Byleth is suddenly struck by realization. The demonic beasts they had faced earlier...and one of Yuri’s remaining men lying in agony, seconds away from dying, with a crest stone in his vicinity. Could it be—that the demonic beasts were—

“Yuri,” Byleth tries saying, but his tongue suddenly felt like sandpaper. “I..I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. They were the ones responsible for their own actions,” Yuri says, cutting him short. “I may have been appointed leader, but their actions remain their own decisions. Besides,” he sighs, lowering his eyes, “I was the one who sent them on this foolish mission anyway…”

Still, Byleth cannot help but to feel as though he had been utterly tactless during the whole ordeal. He had even gone and gotten himself injured, stealing away precious moments of time. If he hadn’t gotten injured, subsequently forcing Yuri to heal him, then perhaps, perhaps, they could’ve gotten on time…

_Time!_

That was it! He could turn back the hands of time! 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Yuri.

“Huh? Where are you going—? Wait, get back here, there is no way I’m—”

The world stops. For a brief moment, Byleth allows himself this moment of reprieve as he goes through the events that had transpired. What would be the shortest way to get there—if there was a way they could possibly start the transformation…

There. He found it. The path. Allowing the hands of time to guide him to the right path, he feels a singular beat from his chest, and the world spins and spins until he is eventually righted into the correct time.

“...you still _feel_ like the same person I know,” Yuri was murmuring, a certain look in his eyes that makes Byleth pause for a bit. Had that look in his eye been there before? 

Ah. He had no time to waste. Quickly, he rushes to say, “Yuri. We have to get there as soon as possible. We don’t have much time.”

Yuri’s eyes shutter. “You’re right. This is no time to be dawdling about the past.”

Byleth instructs him on the correct way to get to the ruins where they had encountered the beasts. Warping is tricky. If one were to plan on warping, they first had to visualize themselves exactly as they are in the place they want to be warped to.

If there was even a single detail that was left out, it would all go terribly wrong. There have been multiple cases of mages attempting to warp, only to come out horribly disfigured, often with missing limbs or, at one point, a torso with all the wrong body parts attached to the wrong places.

Byleth rattles off all the things he remembers seeing in that area, down to the exact detail. He was fairly confident in his ability to remember things like this, but what he wasn’t confident about was his ability to relay this information verbally. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Yuri says, after Byleth’s very messy and very chaotic outline of the scenery. 

Byleth stares. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Yuri affirms, before pulling out his tome and chanting the now-familiar magic that would allow them to bypass the boundaries of space. 

Once again, Byleth finds them in the same place as before. This time, devoid of any rabid demonic beasts. And mercifully intact with the correct body parts. Yuri really is amazing. 

Byleth tells him so. “You’re amazing.”

Yuri, looking a little dazed after his magical spell, takes a while to process whatever it is that Byleth was saying. When the light of recognition is back in his eyes, he promptly responds with a chuckle. “So they say.”

This time...this time Byleth is going to do things right. They have to find the dark bishop first, before the transformation begins. 

And to do that...he has to focus. Cast aside all thoughts, and hone in on just his instincts alone…

There—over by the cliffs. Red. Surrounded by blues. 

The dark bishop had their help up, apparently in the middle of casting a spell. No—they were too far to do much of anything—Byleth quickly looks around for a weapon, _anything_ , he could throw to stop that dark bishop. 

His dagger! He unsheathes it from his side, and, taking aim, throws it as hard as he could. The trajectory was perfect, and he knew he hit the mark when the dark bishop collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain. 

“Your men,” he says to Yuri, “please tell them to get away from that bishop.”

Yuri blinks, then—he lets out a sharp whistle that immediately garners the mens’ attention, because all at once, they were scrabbling to get down from the cliff. 

Byleth moves to meet them, but before he could, a hand grabs his arm. 

A healing spell washes over him, and he looks curiously at Yuri. 

“You broke your shoulder when you threw that dagger,” Yuri states, by way of explanation. “You _are_ going to answer my questions eventually, but I won’t ask. For now.”

Byleth nods. A look of understanding passes between them, and he shoots off to meet the men, and to also prevent the dark bishop from doing much else. Mages have to have complete focus when they are casting a spell. Suffering from a grievous injury would be sure to break their concentration for a short period of time. Hopefully, the pain will keep the dark bishop there until Byleth gets to them.

He _had_ to get between the men and the dark bishop. 

Quickening his footsteps, he sprints towards the cliff until he eventually passes by the group he knows to be Yuri’s men.

Crisis averted. But only temporarily. Byleth trusts Yuri to take care of his men, but first, _first_ , he has to get to the dark bishop first to incapacitate them. 

From this distance, he could make out the vague outline of the dark bishop struggling to get back on their feet. He has to be faster, _faster_ , impossibly fast, if he wants to get there on time. 

With that in mind, Byleth firmly plants his feet on the ground, then leaps into the air, where, mid-air, he starts casting fireball after fireball at the dark bishop, _Odesse_. The first few fireballs fall short, and he grunts in annoyance before closing in on the distance between them and trying again.

This time, two of the fireballs hit their intended mark, and Odesse falls to the ground, unmoving.

Byleth lands back on the ground, relieved. Then—remembering the previous time when he had hurt himself—checks his body for any injuries. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him physically, but...he could be mistaken. After all, he didn’t feel any pain, even when Yuri claimed that he had broken most of the bones in his body…

Could it be...that he just couldn’t feel pain at all?

What an unsettling thought, with even more unsettling implications. But, first things first, he had to find out more about Odesse, and the connection they have with being an Agarthan.

As soon as he got to the top of the cliff, he sees it plainly. Odesse is dead.

Answering questions did not prove to get any results, so Byleth turns his attention to the body. Back then, when Yuri had sliced off their fingers, and even that incision by the neck, there was not a drop of blood that spilled. 

Byleth deftly pulls back the peculiar mask, and is immediately met with a face that looked...otherworldly. The skin was ghastly pale, as though they had not seen sunlight in their entire life. As were the eyes, which were disturbingly white. The body, despite having been alive just a few minutes before, was cold to the touch. 

It was almost as though no blood flowed within them. As though they were lifeless even back then. 

Then—right before his eyes—he watches the dark bishop’s skin slowly burn to a crisp, as the sweltering light and heat of the sun pours over them. The smell of burning flesh was awful, but Byleth could not tear his eyes away from the scene before him.

Eventually, the skin melted, and then the muscles, until all that was left was just bones of the head. The rest of the body remained intact; it was only the exposed face that suffered. No doubt the garb gave them a protective layer from the sun, as the mask did.

“Byleth.”

Byleth almost startles in alarm when he hears his name being called behind him. 

Yuri kneels beside him, assessing the body laid before them.

“I’m assuming this guy was about to turn my men into demonic beasts.” Yuri says, after a prolonged moment of silence. “I’m also assuming that you somehow knew this and saved my men.”

Byleth slowly nods.

“Okay,” Yuri says, nodding, looking a little bit surprised that he was right. “I’m going on a roll here. Uh, what’s the most absurd thing to say...let’s see. I’m assuming that you are able to control time.”

Byleth inclines his head, then, very, very slowly, nods.

“Goddess,” Yuri breathes, shell-shocked. “Wait. How? What? When? Ugh, I’m not making any sense. Let me try this again. Alright. Let’s start with: have you always been able to do this?”

“Ever since I talked to Sothis. And I can only turn back time. And even then, only for a short while.”

Yuri takes a deep breath, utterly flummoxed. “When we reunited, you mentioned that you had the goddess in you. Is she...literally inside you?”

Byleth shakes his head, and Yuri sags in relief. 

“That’s a relief. I don't know _why_ I was so worried about a goddess being in you. But—wait, what did you mean? When you said she was inside—?”

“She used to live inside my head,” Byleth tries to explain, though the details of their shared existence still confuses him. But—when she merged with me, she...disappeared.”

“Go on,” Yuri says weakly, “I’m not even sure if I’m hearing things correctly. I think I died somewhere and this” —he gestures vaguely to Byleth— “is my brain toying with me moments before death, but go on.”

“I’m not too sure myself,” Byleth admits. “I’ve...been having dreams about her. Sleeping. For the longest time. I’ve told my father about it, and he said it was just that. Dreams. Until one day, she woke up. When I met them.”

“Them?”

“Claude,” Byleth recites, “Edelgard. And...Dimitri.”

Yuri lets out a breath, sounding awestruck for some reason. “Did something happen that day? Something that might have caused the goddess to wake up?”

Byleth thinks back on the day. That day, when he had met the three lords. It was early morning, and he had just woken up from a dream that lingered in his mind long after he fully awoke. His father had been awake for some time, and came to wake him up so they could go to their next job. 

Ah. That’s right. That day, he—

“I died,” Byleth says. 

“ _What_?” Yuri is absolutely stricken. 

“But she turned back time. Seconds before the attack. I was able to react quicker, and so I disarmed the man this time.”

Yuri is quiet, seemingly mulling over something. A tiny crease in his forehead appears. “Does that mean,” he begins quietly, “that you’ve died multiple times before?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve seen your students die.”

“...yes.”

“...Have you ever seen me? Die?”

Byleth thinks back. Then— “No. Never you.” 

“Oh.”

It was true. Back then, Yuri had never been placed in the enemies’ direct line of attacks. Despite being an excellent unit with much range and flexibility, he was best suited for strategies that involved sneak attacks. During the war, Byleth didn’t have many opportunities to call for his assistance. 

He had thought that maybe Yuri had his hands full, protecting the inhabitants of Abyss. 

Oh, and speaking of Abyss…

“Where are your men?” Byleth asks curiously.

“Oh, they’re still down there, waiting for us to get back down.”

When Byleth suggests for them to go back to where Balthus was staying, Yuri agrees. Sighing at the sight of his men, who hooted and cheered as they caught sight of him coming towards them, he started listening intently to the men as they walked.

A few months ago, they came across an old ruin that looked to be the estate of the Ordelias. Curious, they checked the interior, only to discover that there wasn’t much in it. Just rubble and furniture that survived the long years of neglect. 

They decided to sleep there for the night, because it was raining hard and they obviously didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to sleep on warm beds. 

That was the night they got attacked. 

They were blinded, so they couldn’t tell who their captors were. Only that they were taken somewhere underground, and they were put in a room. Not understanding what was going on but knowing they were captured, they started planning an escape. It took a few more weeks before the plan could be done.

But one day, they did it. But just as they reached the surface, a strange mage with an even stranger mask started chasing after them. Thinking that it would be an easy victory—after all, there were ten of them up against one mage—they started rounding up on the mage. 

“That’s when you came into the picture, boss!” One of the men finishes, grinning broadly. “We knew you were gonna come an’ save us!”

By the time the tale reached its end, they spotted Balthus’s camp. It was nearing dark, the night skies gradually turning into dark purples and blues painting the horizon. The sad-looking plants were a welcome sight, as was the fire that Balthus had going. The mercenaries immediately siddle over by the fire.

“So many people,” Balthus observes, looking awkwardly at the piece of meat he had been cooking for himself. “Uh, ‘fraid I don’t have much to offer. Sorry.”

“We won’t stay for long,” Yuri reassures, “Just saying our goodbyes. That’s all.”

“Uh-oh. Coming from you, that usually means…”

“Interrogation time,” Yuri exclaims. He makes himself comfortable on the ground, stretching languidly as he relaxes into the grass. Hair strands were sticking out of his usual ponytail, some of them even falling into his face and neck. Byleth is itching to brush it back into its neat plait.

“Oh noooo. You’re gonna make me _think_. You _know_ I don’t like thinking!”

“And _you_ know I don’t care. Tell us what you know about the Ordelias.”

Balthus frowns. “Didn’t I already tell you? I was on the run for a while, and they took me in and gave me food and directions to the nearest inn. They apologized, saying they couldn’t provide shelter. But that was more than alright. I was half-starving at that point, and they saved me!”

“That bit about them not being able to provide shelter for you,” Yuri says, “That’s certainly strange. Why couldn’t they? They’re a noble house with an even nobler estate. Surely they had a place there for a pipsqueak like you.”

“ _Pipsqueak_? I’ll have you know, pal, I was a hulking stud even when I was a teenager,” Balthus says indignantly. “But yeah...I’ve always thought it was strange. I dunno. Back then, I used to think they were being held as political prisoners or something. You’ve heard of how they aided House Hyrm during the Insurrection of the Seven, yeah?”

Byleth and Yuri nod. The mercenaries all nod as well.

Looking a bit smug at having a captive audience, Balthus continues, “but the Empire eventually succeeded in quelling the rebellion. I always thought it was maybe a kind of punishment for House Ordelia. Maybe. So I didn’t question it. I just accepted their kindness.”

The mercenaries erupt into loud cheers of approval.

“Balthus!” One of the mercenaries cries. “You’re so kind! And smart!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Have you ever heard of Tomas?” Byleth asks, once the cheers die down. Seteth had mentioned it in passing, long ago. It was House Ordelia who had recommended Tomas for the position of head librarian. 

“Tomas...Tomas…” Balthus mutters. “Hmm. Don’t have a clue. But since we’re talking about _me_ here, let’s go to the part where I went to the inn and charmed all the ladies there—”

Byleth is about to interrupt, but Yuri shushes him with one look. “When he gets bragging, that’s when he usually starts revealing interesting details.”

But the bragging continues for a prolonged moment, where Balthus is animatedly re-telling how he had his shirt accidentally torn open for the third time that night, and all the ladies had immediately swooned at his muscles. 

“So this one gal, she comes up to me, right, she comes up to me and says, ‘how about I tell you a secret. In exchange, let me touch your pecs.’ Who am I to turn down such a fine lady? So I agree. And she starts going on about this guy. A knight, I think. Anyway, this knight had gone crazy and started biting people and setting fires like a crazy person does.”

Just like in Remire Village. Byleth and Yuri exchange a look of excitement. 

“So I say, ‘that’s crazy’ and she insists that it’s true. Said the knight used to be a real studious guy. Real intent on becoming a knight. And...huh. Y’know what. I think I remember something…”

“Something?” Yuri prompts.

“Yeah. I remember something...something about a Tomas guy…”

“Try to remember,” Byleth encourages. “It’s very important.”

“You can’t just ask me to remember things without paying me for it,” Balthus grouches, “Even if you’re pals. _Especially_ if you’re my pals.”

Yuri gives him a nudge with his foot.

“Okay, okay, jeez. Tomas, was it? What a real common name...really forgettable...totally fades into the background. Now, if you had a name like _Balthus_ , for one, heh. Huh...y’know what? I think—I think that crazy knight I mentioned earlier used to be a bodyguard for this Tomas guy.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Yuri asks.

Balthus shakes his head. “I’ve got a migraine going on now, so no. Plus, after that night in the inn, I had to go on the run again, so I doubt I can give any more relevant information.”

Yuri gets on his feet. “Thanks, anyway. You’ve already helped a lot. Anyway, we should get going. Oh, but before we do—” he takes something from inside his satchel, and tosses it to Balthus, who catches it easily. A bottle of alcohol. “A little sign of gratitude.”

“Oh, man. This is the good stuff. The good stuff, I tell you! Hey, thanks, pals!” Balthus says as he excitedly pops open the bottle with his bare hands. “Oh, hey, Yuri, come back, got somethin’ to tell you.”

Yuri motions for him to go ahead and that he’ll catch up later, so Byleth does. But not before he infuses the plants with some more magic.

Whilst walking though, he tries to re-arrange all the information he’s collected throughout the day. 

The political turmoil in House Ordelia, where Imperial officials had “punished” them for aiding House Hyrm, had shaken the noble house for quite a bit. The details were a bit shaky, but Byleth deduces that this was around the time when Solon, masquerading as Tomas, entered the monastery, under “recommendation” from House Ordelia.

Years later, Lysithea would enter the Officers Academy at a younger age than most. Studying with an unbridled passion that one might say would border on desperation, as though she was desperate to do things as early as possible. 

The war had happened, and it had impeded her plans of ensuring a peaceful life for her parents, so she had set her sights on seeing the conclusion of the war. 

After the war, Lysithea had renounced her claim to nobility, and then afterwards disappeared with her parents. Years later, the Ordelia territory started becoming shrouding in mystery, with rumors of humans turning into demonic beasts following its name. Which, as it turned out, was the work of an Agarthan named Odesse. 

The following part, Byleth decides, would be pure speculation on his part. 

Solon and Kronya, in their true forms anyway, bear resemblances to Odesse. It was in their clothes, and their appearances, and their similar revulsion to the people they referred to as “beasts”. It wouldn’t be too wild to speculate that some of them had the power to change their appearance at will, like Solon and Kronya had done.

With that said, it can be assumed that Solon, operating as Tomas, made that knight his first “experiment”, as he called it. 

_Ah_. Byleth could already feel his brain starting to overheat with all the force-fed knowledge of the day. Shaking his head, he slows his footsteps when he senses Yuri jogging to catch up with him. 

“What did Balthus talk to you about?” Byleth asks. 

Yuri waves his hand lightly. “Oh, just some stuff about alcohol or whatever. It wasn’t very important. Anyway, ready to go back home to Abyss?”

_Home_. Byleth nods.


	6. goddess tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They are my children."
> 
> —unknown author, unnamed collection of papers. [the back of the poorly binded papers were stamped the words: Banned from the Church of Seiros for unlawful use of words claimed to be from the Goddess Herself. Send to the archives in Abyss.]

_She looks over the vast expanse of land their kind dared not to set foot upon for so long. For it belonged to the land of men, who, if what she was speculating on held truth to it, would hold the secret to restoring life back to her kin._

_She pauses. Surely her true form would do nothing except to spark fear into the simple hearts of man. They would quake and tremble in fear, even run away from her at the very sight of her. That would just not do. She had ventured across worlds, followed countless false stories…_

_A bright light encapsulates her form then, as she feels her power ceding into the depths of her body as she assumes the guise of those who walk on two legs. Her power would surely be limited in this form, but she will still be able to do many feats._

_She had come so far, all for the sake of her family. This time...this time she will succeed in her mission. With this in mind, she descends into the land of men._

...

“...leth. Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“Mmrph?” Byleth groggily sits up, blinking at his surroundings. 

It’s been a few days since the skirmish at the Ordelia territory. As soon as they got back to Abyss, Byleth had immediately buried himself in the numerous books the library had to offer, hoping to find some kind of lead.

A lead on what exactly, he couldn’t quite figure out yet. 

He’d also been discussing his ideas at length with Yuri, who seemed to be the only one who could properly articulate Byleth’s barely coherent thought processes. 

Contrary to what most of the people thought of him, Byleth _was_ actually quite fond of conversing with other people. It’s just that...well, it’s hard to convey what you’re thinking with words alone, and sometimes his thoughts get so jumbled and chaotic, which in turn, leads to a series of gibberish words from his mouth.

Thankfully, his father had always possessed an uncanny ability to guess whatever it is that was on his mind with just a look at his face. And, during the war, his students had eventually learned as well. 

...thinking about his students always makes his chest rumble with emotion, which is subsequently followed by bouts of sadness and even _more_ sadness when he remembers he hasn’t even seen nor heard from them all this time. 

Absently, he stifles a yawn and takes in everything around him with bleary eyes. 

It seems he’s fallen asleep in the library again. And Yuri has come to forcibly drag him to...breakfast (lunch? dinner?) again. 

“You were twitching in your sleep,” Yuri notes, an amused little grin on his face. Byleth finds himself distractedly following the delicate curve of his lips. “Dreams?”

Was he dreaming? Byleth tries recalling the vague traces of imagery ingrained in his head before he was awoken, but, frustratingly, he comes up blank. 

Strange, he had a feeling he was dreaming about something important. Something in him had recognized that it was important, and that he _had_ to remember it before it got lost to time. 

Ah, well. Perhaps he’ll remember more of it later on during the day. 

“Find anything important?” Yuri asks, sliding into the chair across him. Leaning forward, he skims through the sparse notes Byleth had written before he’d fallen asleep:

_Pan… Tactician Loog? Kyphon_

_Those who slither in the dark … ?_

_Faerghus rebellion = Tragedy of Duscur_

_Instability in church + kingdom ???_

“The history of how the Kingdom was founded, huh,” Yuri comments, as he takes in the number of books beside Byleth with curious eyes. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest in that history?”

Byleth hands him the burnt remnants of a report he had managed to find slipped in between one of the books. It was a collection of papers that resemble a report, though most of it had been burned:

> _Item 18, Part 5_
> 
> ...the Faerghus Rebellion. I harbor doubts about the army Loog has raised. How did he recruit soldiers without raising suspicions in the Empire? How did he acquire those mysetrious weapons, so like Heroes' Relics? What is the true identity of Pan, the tactician rumored to have been integral to Loog's victories? And Those Who Slither in the Dark...
> 
> _Item 22, Part_ 2
> 
> The shadowed order of the Knights of Seiros believes that King Klaus I of Faerghus was assassinated...Everyone believes that his will, which demands the terrotiry he divided among the three princes and fails to name a successor, is a fake. The purpose was likely to involve the Leicestor region and display a greater military force than the Empire...
> 
> _Item 49, Part_ _18_
> 
> ...the Tragedy of Duscur, after which more members of the Western Church are strongly criticizing the Central Church. Among them are those who claim the incident in Duscur was the work of the shadowed order of the Knights of Seiros. It seems a confrontation over the dogma's legitimacy is inevitable. Soon, the child of House Gaspard...

He watches with hazy eyes as Yuri starts reading the report; for some reason, his mind drifts to other thoughts as he focuses on the soft slant of his eyes, focusing intently on the words on paper.

Yuri...has changed. 

He couldn’t really tell _how_ different he is compared to before, but it was like he’s more...mellow now? Whereas before, Yuri was more guarded, more prone to teasing remarks and side banter to dissuade people from getting to know his secrets, the present Yuri was more...open, somehow. 

His face, too, seems more carefree. More prone to genuine smiles and teasing smirks. It was almost as though he had found something to live for. 

Byleth shakes himself out of his thoughts. Of _course_ he would be more open. The bulk of their shared past was spent fighting a war. Anything compared to their war phase selves would be borderline _happy_. 

“You know, there’s this famous story about Loog,” Yuri muses, handing the report back to him. “It was really popular in Faerghus, especially for kids.”

Something pinged at the back of Byleth’s head.

 _“Loog and the Maiden of Wind!_ ” _Ashe exclaimed, eyes positively sparkling as he accepted the book Byleth gave him with reverent eyes. “Oh, thank you, Professor! This is one of my favorite books_ ever _!”_

“Loog and the Maiden of Wind,” Byleth says, his flat voice doing injustice to Ashe’s starry-eyed reverence. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “Loog and the Maiden of Wind,” this time with a hopefully lighter tone. 

Yuri snaps his fingers. “That’s the one! I used to read it all the time to the kids, so I daresay I know almost every single word on that book by memory.”

“Loog and the Maiden of Wind. Loog and the Maiden of Wind.”

“It’s a romanticized tale of the founder of the Kingdom, Loog, with appearances from other heroes like Kyphon,” Yuri explains, eyeing Byleth’s notes again. “Though I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a character named Pan.”

“Loog and the Maiden of Wind.”

“Pan, the tactician rumored to have been integral to Loog’s victories,” Yuri recites from the burnt report, “...and Those Who Slither in the Dark? Now what kind of organization calls themselves by _that_ name? It’s like they’re _asking_ to be made villains.”

Satisfied with his voice now, Byleth turns his undivided attention back to the conversation. “The dark mage,” he supplies, tapping the words ‘ _those who slither in the dark’_.

“You think that guy who tried turning my men into demonic beasts was one of them?” 

Byleth nods. He pushes forward a small book poetically titled _Romance of the World’s Perdition_ and brings Yuri’s attention to the last page:

> _“...The children of men fled to the depths of the earth, beyond the sight of the False God, beyond the embrace of the sacred sun, and beyond the reach of the waters of Despair. They swore a fervent oath of revenge against the surface world, ruled by beasts, and against their tormentor, the False God.”_

“‘Fled to the depths of the earth’,” Byleth quotes, “could be similar to Those Who Slither in the Dark.”

Yuri, however, seems to be focusing on something else. “It couldn’t be…” he murmurs, almost disbelievingly. 

Byleth might have an inkling as to what he might be thinking of. After all, the same thing immediately popped into his head the moment he read the antiquated book. 

Abyss was effectively an underground settling. It had existed for centuries, rumors even saying that its existence dated past the construction of Garegg Mach. Assuming this book held a semblance of truth to it, _and_ assuming that they were the same people belonging to Those Who Slither in the Dark, then perhaps, they may have fled to Abyss.

This theory operated on a lot of assumptions, though.

“The people of Abyss are — they aren’t —” Yuri starts to say, before he is cut off.

“I know, Yuri,” Byleth says gently, “I do not think they are the same people as written in here. But, you have mentioned before that Abyss contains many undiscovered passageways leading to nowhere.”

“So you’re thinking that in some of those undiscovered passageways, there’s an ancient civilization plotting their revenge on this... _false god_ ,” Yuri states, “and that this ancient civilization is responsible for some of the major events in Fódlan’s history, like the founding of the Kingdom. And the Tragedy of Duscur.”

Byleth nods. 

“Friend...I understand that you’re trying to fill in the lost history of Fódlan before the church effectively erased it,” Yuri says, referencing the lengthy discussion they had before of the Church of Seiros’ involvement in fabricating history. They both agreed that, since it was the church who was effectively controlling book prints handwritten by monks and scholars, it was highly plausible that they could revise history however they liked. 

“But I think you’re placing a bit too much faith on the nobles,” Yuri continues. “Corrupt nobles will do anything, _anything_ , to achieve a bit of power for themselves. They are not above orchestrating a massacre just so they can benefit from the instability it would bring if the king was found dead.”

Byleth inclines his head questioningly. 

“I’m just saying that maybe this whole ' _villainous group_ ' isn’t largely to blame for most of Fódlan’s problems. Most of it is caused by disputes between the nobility, with the common folk trapped in their petty squabbles,” Yuri says, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. 

Byleth digests this information. It _was_ highly plausible that maybe he had too much faith in nobility. His experience teaching his students had given him a rather favorable view on nobility as a whole, since...his students' faces...wide-eyed and brimming with hope for the future…

He shakes his head.

Plus, he may also be blindsided by his belief that this new Fódlan, ruled by Dimitri, would have no faults. The possibility that there might exist an organization set on destroying this new world had spurred Byleth onto researching in the first place.

“Fair point,” he concedes with a sigh. Byleth rummages around for the sheath of notes he’d amassed for the day and starts organizing them into neat piles. 

“Oh, right,” Yuri shifts as he reaches into the satchel he’s carrying and brings out a book. “I thought you might like to see this. It’s a collection of research notes from a renowned crest scholar. Includes discoveries as recent as five years ago.”

Intrigued, Byleth accepts the book and studies the cover. It looked like any other normal book. He starts leafing through the pages, hoping to get a grasp on the contents, but stops as a particular passage catches his eyes. 

> “... _It is beyond question that Crest Stones supply their associated Relic with power of some kind.”_

Written beneath the passage, in horrible handwriting, as though the writer simply could just not be bothered to be understood, was, ‘ _heart.’_

> “... _Based on the composition of_ — _it can be surmised that_ — _likely a massive creature akin to a wyvern. However, strength is beyond compare to that of wyvern bones. They are more durable than all materials other than crucible steel, making them ideal for crafting weaponry.”_

The pages were old and worn, so most of the pages are illegible, but newer pages were slid after each section. It was likely that the researcher had stumbled upon this book, and decided to add their own research notes to further expound upon the previous research.

Byleth flips to the next page.

> “ _It is so unbearably frustrating that the most important parts of the research were not written clearly enough, but it cannot be helped. I will do my utmost to fill in the blanks. Based on the previous section that mentioned Relics, it logically follows that the author is now talking about the composition of said Relics. And then again, with the mention of bones. It is difficult to conceive, but perhaps they are talking about how the Relics_ _resemble bones of some kind of creature stronger even than wyverns. It certainly looks very bony._
> 
> _“The only thing I can think of in my sleep-addled state would be dragons. But that is impossible. Though, admittedly, very entertaining to think about. I will dedicate the next few chapters on what little I can find about dragons.”_

That was the last page. 

Byleth flips through the book once more, as if by doing so, he could magically conjure up the missing pages. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear. The book stayed the same. 

“It’s missing pages,” Byleth waves the book with a sort of helpless frustration, which, true enough, had tears in its spine, as though someone had torn off the pages.

“Then that probably means it’s either important enough or blasphemous enough to warrant someone ripping those pages off,” Yuri concludes. He props his elbows on the table and puts his head on his palms. “You know, here in Abyss, we get all sorts of people who come and go. It’s part of the charm. We ask no questions, and you do your business. That kind of reputation attracts a certain kind of group. Scholars who are willing to turn their backs on the Goddess if it meant it could provide answers to their questions.”

Byleth turns his attention back to the book. What could possibly be the correlation of dragons and relics? And how would _that_ relate to the church and Sothis? And _who_ is the researcher who had been studying these topics in secret?

Just as he was about to bury his head into the books for a (yet another) nap, Yuri’s face inches closer to him. Byleth blinks at the sudden proximity. 

“Hey, come on,” Yuri coaxes, “you’ve been at it for at least half the day now. Take a break, at least.”

“Already had a break,” Byleth says, maybe a touch too grumpily. “Twelve years of it.”

Yuri chuckles, and the sound of it is light, airy, so unlike the past Yuri, whose laughs tended to send chills down people’s spines. He grins, and it’s honestly _too_ dazzling to see that Byleth has to squint at him. “What’s another hour to add to that, then? C’mon, walk with me. A little romantic walk in the catacombs sounds fun, don’t you think?”

Byleth casts a forlorn look at the books, before nodding and standing up. He stretches his arms above his head, satisfied at the way his joints popped at the motion. He also completely misses the strange look Yuri gets in his eyes at the accidental sliver of skin exposed as he stretched. 

“So I’ve been doing a little digging of my own while you were immersed in your books,” Yuri continues conversationally, as they set forth. 

Byleth inclines his head in question.

“About how you don’t seem to feel pain at all,” Yuri clarifies. 

After their little adventure in the Ordelia territory, Yuri had grilled him on what exactly he knew of his current condition, as well as his relation with the Goddess. All he got in return were vague answers, since Byleth himself didn’t know much. They’ve discussed the limits of his control over time as well, with Yuri listening intently to every detail. 

As far as he knew, he was able to turn back the hands of time as many times as twelve times. The farthest he could stretch to how far he could go back was half a day (enough to recover mistakes in a battlefield, he can’t help but to note). Secretly, he thinks that with his new surge of powers, he could go even past his limits, but he couldn’t test that out yet. 

“I asked several members of the church,” Yuri tells him. “Figured I could go to someone who has the highest authority on healing magic. Anyway, from what I was able to grasp was that this lack of feeling any pain could be that you had your nerves damaged. No nerves meant no pain, I hear.”

Byleth highly doubts this. Frayed nerves didn’t exactly sit well with him.

“Or,” Yuri continues, “there is one other possibility. You know those moments where, in the heat of battle, your senses become heightened, you feel as though you are operating at the peak of your condition, and your strength doubles to that of before?”

Byleth nods. He’s had similar experiences, plenty of times, and it’s saved him more than a hundred times. 

“Adrenaline rush, it’s called,” Yuri explains, “and in that state of body and mind, your body places the sensations of pain lower in the priority list, as its foremost priority is to ensure survival at all costs.” He gives him a significant look. “Sound familiar?”

Very interested now, Byleth nods quickly. 

“Most people only experience this sort of reaction in short durations, just enough time for them to escape from threats. But...this is just a guess, mind you, but I have a feeling that you...are stuck in this phase. As though you cannot run from the looming threat that your body has decided upon.”

It was as if lightning had struck him, as the implications of that dawned on him. That weird feeling he got as soon as he stepped into the world, after his twelve years of slumber. The feeling of walking around in a world that seemed determined to negate his very existence. It was as though he was walking on extremely thin ice, as though he could fall and drown if he wasn’t too careful.

He didn’t feel like this before, he thinks. The world then, had been brighter, kinder, bursting with all sorts of colors and fragments of warmth and pain all at once. 

Now, it was as though the colors had mellowed out, giving a duller, more distant appearance. It was as though he was existing only through borrowed time. 

...what in the world happened to him? And why was his mind so averse to cooperating with forgotten memories? His memories were certainly still here, contained in him, but it was as though it was locked in a chamber in his own subconscious mind. 

If what Yuri was saying is true — and Byleth is quickly believing in it — then that could also mean that he was the enemy of the world. At least, his instincts believed it to be so. 

“That...might hold some truth to it,” he manages to say.

Is it even possible to feel guilty for just existing? He feels, now more than ever, that he is trespassing on a world he did not belong in. 

How silly of him to think that, if he could only work hard, he would eventually manage to solve all of the underlying secrets in Fódlan and _then_ reunite with his students as he defeats the evil ancient organization threatening Fódlan. 

And then — what? Would his students even welcome him back after he had deserted them for more than a decade? _Would_ they even recognize him, in this state where he hardly even feels like himself? 

Ah. Byleth doesn’t know. In fact, thinking and even _feeling_ are getting to be so wearisome. 

“I think I could go for a break,” he murmurs, exhausted. 

Yuri snorts, not unkindly. “Well, where do you think I’m taking you?”

They were now ascending a staircase. If Byleth squints, he would be able to make out the vague outline of the Abysskeeper, ever the vigilant watcher. 

“To the monastery?” Byleth guesses. 

“I thought familiar grounds would help you,” is what Yuri replies with, his eyes softening. 

They greet the Abysskeeper, who had something to report about a lost item he’s been thinking of claiming for himself ( _"hey, finders keepers!_ "). They ascend the stairs, clambering into the slabs of stones set to hide the entrance into Abyss. Before long, they’re hit with the rays of sunshine, illuminating their faces and basking them in the warmth of the surface. 

Yuri, however, curls his lips disdainfully at the light. Even inching away to the edges, where the shadows were sure to cover him from the sun. When he catches Byleth’s inquisitive glance, he says defensively, “I just find the sun to be cloying, that’s all.”

The breath of fresh air warms Byleth to his very toes. He breathes in deeply, and turns around all at once to look at the monastery he's left behind.

“Wouldn’t I be recognized?” Byleth wonders out loud.

“Do you want to be recognized?” There’s genuine curiosity in Yuri’s voice. There was also the way he worded his question, as though he was giving Byleth a choice. Like it was his decision, and no matter what, he would stand by him. 

And it — makes his chest swell with gratitude. In a world such as this, where he felt like he could disappear into nothingness if he let his guard down for even a short while, it was hugely reassuring to have someone by his side. 

In response, Byleth only shrugs. If he gets recognized, what of it? It may be a bit presumptuous of him, but with his new powers, and with Yuri, he felt invincible. Smiling a bit, he looks back at Yuri, who looks taken aback. 

“Yuri?”

Yuri startles. “Huh?”

“You look like you’ve seen something.” Byleth tries peering behind him. Maybe he spotted an enemy from behind?

“It — it’s nothing,” Yuri says hurriedly, though Byleth could swear he hears him mutter, “ _goddess_ ,” under his breath. “Anyway! The monastery hasn’t changed much, in all honesty. I bet you could take a nice, long look around and see that everything is exactly the same as we left it. Except, y’know, less bloody.”

Suddenly, Byleth feels excited at the prospect of exploring the monastery once again. Maybe he could visit the fishing pond, do a bit of fishing. Perhaps he could visit the plants in the greenhouse; likely they’ve had more than a few new species of plants in his absence. 

He starts walking in a random direction, as Yuri takes it upon himself to fill him in on all the things he’s missed. 

Apparently, the greenhouse now had an abundance of all sorts of exotic plants. Looking all around him, Byleth happily surveys the nearest plant to him, which is colored an odd shade of purple and also glowing rather strangely. He will have to re-read another encyclopedia of plants. 

The fishing pond hasn’t changed much. Byleth listens as Yuri recounts a story from when some students from several years back had gone swimming in the pond, stark naked in a show of juvenile rebellion. Before the knights could intervene, the students had come rushing out of the water themselves, claiming that the fish had chased them out. 

“Some of the fishes there are indeed very aggressive,” Byleth comments seriously, thinking about the one time he had gone for fishing and come back bruised and battered from grappling with the fishes who didn't want to be fished.

From then on, the pond became somewhat of a legend amongst the students. Many of them offer their prayers — and snacks — to the fish in the pond, hoping that they could pass their certification exams without much struggle. 

Actually... Byleth can tell the fish in the pond have become rather lax and spoiled. They’ve become far too easy to catch, as though smug in the knowledge that no one would dare to fish them out of the water once more. 

Once they’ve arrived at the marketplace however, Byleth notices Yuri getting a little restless at the sight of huge gatherings of people. Although he would very much like to explore every nook and cranny of the present Garreg Mach, he wouldn’t like Yuri to be uncomfortable at all.

With this in mind, he gently steers them toward the inner halls, away from the crowds and the glaring rays of the sun. 

Once they’re some distance away from the marketplace, he feels rather than sees Yuri relax slightly. 

“I don’t really do well in crowds,” Yuri admits in a low voice. “It’s — hmm. I don’t know how to put it. Unsettling? Something about being in a crowded place makes it so restrictive somehow. Like it’s hard to breathe.”

All around them were students and monks and knights and all kinds of people bustling through the halls and the corridors. Byleth can see now why Yuri hadn’t been worried about him being recognized. With the amount of people here, there was only just a very slim chance of being seen. 

Most people don’t even bother looking up at others’ faces. Mostly they were too busy with whatever it is they were doing, and very rarely making eye contact unless it was to politely excuse themselves in a tight situation. 

He feels himself relaxing slightly. Anonymity was very reassuring, especially at a time like this. Though — he glances at the man beside him. 

Yuri’s eyes were darting this way and that, as though he was continuously mapping out an escape route if things went south. Although his posture was calm and relaxed enough, Byleth could tell by the way that he was swinging his arms as he walked that he was coiled to strike if anyone were to pose a threat. 

Perhaps if they were to go to a quiet place, it would help him. Though — Byleth sees that it was almost impossible now. Previously peaceful places where he would often find himself in if he wanted some alone time were filled with people now. The greenhouse, the fishing pond, the school grounds where he used to host tea parties in…

Ah, but he could try going to the cathedral. It was a space of quiet worship, filled with only fervent prayers and the songs of the choir lifting their voices up to the heavens. Once before, he’d even seen Yuri loitering about the cathedral, quietly praying. 

To the cathedral it was. 

Gently, he nudges Yuri towards the direction of the cathedral. “Cathedral?”

“Hmm? Why the cathedral?” Yuri asks distractedly, “You don’t often go there.” Relaxing slightly, he even smiles a little, “in fact, you only ever go there for choir practice or to rummage in the advice box.”

Byleth feels himself frown a little. He does go there! Mostly to help restore the statues of the Saints (keenly aware of Seteth’s hovering figure as he helps dust away the debris and polish them to perfection), or to look for roaming students he could coerce into joining choir practice with him.

The advice box was another thing he had taken to checking regularly. His students did not hesitate to approach him after classes to talk about the lectures or about their thoughts, but sometimes, they would have worries. Private worries they couldn’t say out loud. In which case, the archbishop had responded by announcing an advice box where anonymous letters could be placed.

The idea was that of anonymity. People, students and faculty and knights alike, would be able to put their letters inside, and receive advice back. The advice box was open to all; anyone could give out advice. But Byleth had utterly monopolized the advice box, dashing over there at utmost haste in order to respond to their grievances, that most people just sort of let him be. 

It was an open secret that he was the one responsible for handling the advice box.

He spots the advice box over by the distance, and by some force of habit, rushes towards it. The monk in charge of the advice box (does he just stand there all day?) cheerily informs him that the box has a total of one note. 

One note! That means there is one person in the monastery who needs to be listened to. Byleth promptly picks out the letter and studies it, considering the options. After some serious thought, he carefully pens his advice at the back of the note and gives it to the monk, who bows at him gratefully. 

“Oh!” The monk exclaims, mid-bow, catching sight of Yuri. “Hello, Yuri! Seems as though this gentleman over here got here just before you did. There are no more notes remaining.”

Yuri smiles a bit stiffly, then, starts a conversation with the monk. They start talking about the monk’s family, his latest studies, his worries. 

It seems as though they are quite familiar with each other. Has Yuri been handling the advice box in his absence? 

In truth, Byleth had been a little worried about the state of the advice box. What if, in his absence, the people had forgotten all about it and removed it from the cathedral entirely? Which — he flushes now, embarrassed — was a selfish thing to think about. He wasn’t the only one who could dole out advice. In fact, he wasn’t even the one in charge of the advice box itself! He had just intervened, thinking that it was for the best for everyone involved.

What a selfish thing to do. A dark voice pipes in from the back of his mind, _are you sure you did it for the wellbeing of your students? Maybe you just wanted them to depend on you and only you. So that you wouldn’t be forgotten_.

...being forgotten...and being whisked away from the world he had thought he belonged to, only to come back and realize that he had been effectively scrapped from existence. That the world had moved on, without him, as though he was just a mere blip in the vast expanse of the world. Utterly forgettable. 

Shame — now a familiar feeling by now — unfurls in him, coiling around his chest and up into his throat.He should be _happy_ that they were doing so well without him. Wasn’t that what he had wanted? Above anything else, to carve a better path to the future, so that his students could live the peace they had so fiercely fought for. It doesn’t matter if he was in the picture or not, just so long as they could bask in the light. 

He had told himself it was so. But then, why did he feel...strange?

There’s a hand on his arm, and he shakes himself out of his head. He looks up to see Yuri, who was already gazing back at him in concern. 

“Everything okay?” Yuri quietly asks. 

Byleth couldn’t tell him. No, he cannot burden someone else with his own thoughts and troubles. What good would he be, if he were to express any of his damnably inconsequential problems? Surely, Yuri had to have his hands full. Taking care of Abyss, and his men, and _now_ the advice box. All because Byleth had been stupid enough to die. 

Yuri had said he spent some time searching for him when news of his death reached Abyss and — unbidden, a perverse sense of dark satisfaction rises up in him as he remembers so. He immediately squashes it down. How _dare_ he, to take some kind of pleasure in the fact that he had caused someone stress? 

“Hey,” comes a voice in his ears, and Byleth straightens up once again, blinking at his surroundings. 

He hadn’t noticed it, but they somehow made it all the way to the Goddess Tower whilst he was trapped in his own swirling thoughts. 

“Someone once told me that it wasn’t good to bottle all my thoughts and emotions all to myself,” Yuri says, eyes soft as he gazes at him once more. His smile becomes a little fonder at the edges, as he continues, “and that I would surely explode if I were to keep at it. He didn’t say as much, but the implications were there.”

Byleth listens, lets Yuri’s voice float all around them, listens so fiercely so that he might block the thoughts that were threatening to engulf him once again. 

“He also said that, if it would help in any way, he was always willing to listen. No matter what, he would set aside whatever he was doing so he could listen. I thought it was just empty words to make me feel better, and I took it as such. But...in the months that followed, I came to realize that he was telling the truth.”

Byleth turns to face him now, listening attentively, enraptured by stories of an unknown man. 

“He would constantly go to Abyss, despite my protests that we were doing just _fine_. He always pretended that he had accidentally stumbled into Abyss, for my own benefit, I guess, since I was still so suspicious of him. But...eventually I came to look forward to his visits. 

“It meant that there was someone up there that was looking out for us,” Yuri murmurs, eyes impossibly soft and tender. “That no matter how I would mess up, he would always be there to pick up the pieces and listen, despite how much I would derail the conversation with lies and empty words. I learned that he did that for his students, going above and beyond just to make sure they were alright, and they could keep striving to become the best they could be.”

 _Students?_ “Was he a teacher?” Byleth inquires.

Yuri laughs. “He’s more than that. Anyway, he became such a shining beacon of hope that the very sight of him was enough to spur us into winning a large-scale war. Victory after victory, tales upon tales of magnificent battles led by one blessed by the Goddess herself.”

Byleth inclines his head, feeling very stumped. The details were vague, but some parts of the story seemed...almost familiar, like — 

“It’s you, you fool,” Yuri says, laughing again at the dumbstruck expression he undoubtedly had on his face. “You’re the one I’m talking about.”

“Me?” Byleth asks stupidly, pointing to himself.

“Yeah, you,” Yuri grins at him, unabashed. “You’ve done...so much, my friend. And I fully intend on repaying the debt. No matter what.”

Byleth feels...embarrassed. Judging by Yuri’s utterly red ears and the way he now avoided his eyes by looking this way and that, he was feeling the same embarrassment, which only intensified Byleth’s own embarrassment even further. 

But...most of all, he feels warm. 

“You...don’t have to repay the debt,” he manages to say, not without difficulty.

“ _That’s_ what you focus on?” Yuri groans theatrically, “Quit telling me what to do. It’s only going to make me even more determined to do exactly the opposite of what you just told me to do.”

That startles a laugh out of Byleth, and he laughs, and _laughs_ , until he feels quite breathless. 

Finally, he calms down and looks again at Yuri, who stares back at him as though seeing him for the first time, a delicate pink blooming in his cheeks.

“I’ve been feeling very strange for a while,” Byleth says honestly, breaking their eye contact and focusing on the brilliantly blue skies beyond the windows. Something about looking into Yuri’s eyes for extended periods is making him oddly jittery. “When I came back into this world. It was almost as though the world had made an enemy of me. Like something in the very air thirsts for my blood.”

“And...I’ve been feeling as though they might have forgotten me,” he continues shyly. “My students. But, Yuri. You’re here. And that alone will give me the strength to keep going.”

Yuri makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat, and for a very brief moment, Byleth feels worried that he might be in danger of choking. Abruptly, he stands up and walks towards the exit of the tower. 

“I’m fine,” he calls back, looking over his shoulder, voice strange. “I’m really fine. I just — need a moment. Don’t worry.” 

Just then, he stumbles into the walls. 

“Still fine,” Yuri calls out, before walking away even faster than before and disappearing from sight. 

Byleth secretly casts a _Physic_ his way though, just in case he hurt himself. Contented for the time being, he sits down on the ground, looking around at the Goddess Tower. 

The Goddess Tower…

A wave of emotions wash over him as he takes in the place. He doesn’t quite know the reason for the construction of such a tower, except that it was the highest place in the monastery. If there was ever a huge sea to suddenly appear and engulf Fodlan whole, the Goddess Tower would be the last thing to be swallowed. 

Byleth blinks. What a wild thought to have. 

Shaking his head, he closes his eyes. The sun shines overhead, the few rays making its way onwards his face and bathing him in the sun’s light. The warmth, and the sweet voices echoing from the choir in the cathedral all make him feel a bit drowsy. 

Sothis wouldn’t mind if he took a nap on the tower named after her...

...  
  


* * *

He was exhausted. Just — plain exhausted. He had come to the Goddess Tower, hoping for some peace and quiet as he intended to sort through his thoughts, but the sound of incoming footsteps had alerted him to a new presence. He tensed, muscles coiled and ready, as he steeled himself to say something he dared not say out loud for weeks now.

"It is...a lovely day, is it not?”

“I won’t take the title as Archbishop.”

It was Dimitri. Byleth cursed privately at himself. He thought it was another one of those accursed high-ranking church officials who were hellbent on forcing him to listen to their unnecessarily long and drawn-out sermons on religious affairs. He cared not for it. The very thought of sitting through those sermons was giving him nervous jitters already.

The two of them stared at each other. 

“What — Professor — I — that is to say... you are absolutely free to do as you choose, of course, but, please, think this through. You are the successor Rhea appointed, are you not?”

“Free,” he repeated bitterly, not seeing the other flinch at the tone of his voice. He shook his head. “I don’t think I am.”

Dimitri stared at him, worried now. “Professor?”

After the war had concluded, he dedicated himself to seeing things through. Restoring the peoples' morale was on a very high priority, so funerals were held, and families were put into the church's protection as their loved ones perished in the war that had set the entire country in flames. Festivities followed soon, after they had seen through the victims of the war, and the innocents. 

And then, there was the council meetings of the King. Privately, and only amongst the King's most trusted allies and friends, there have been talks about re-establishing the governance of Fódlan. Byleth was firm in his stance that too much power consolidated on one person or system would not bode well on the long-run. For now, because Fodlan was shaky after such a large-scale war, it was best to assume absolute control just so they could restore peace throughout the land. But for the long term, it just would not be advisable.

Most of them agreed, and most of the meetings were spent drafting ideas on new treaties and plans of changing the power infrastracture in Fódlan so as to shift the power towards the people instead. Byleth had spent many countless nights thinking up of new prospects to bring to the meetings, and it was only now that he felt the effects of working his body to the ground.

“Dimitri,” he said evenly.

He smiled.

The meetings were productive at best, and downright arduous at worst. Most of the council meetings evolved into several disputes and disagreements, with Byleth and Dimitri at the very center of it all. Byleth was glad for it, as the disputes meant that there were new perspectives being brought unto the table, allowing them to see limitless possibilities. Still, constantly having to present and explain his thoughts in a logical and concise manner was...difficult.

But after every meeting, they would gather into a table and share a meal, remniscient of their academy days. Byleth was more than glad for it, savoring each precious moments in his heart.

Dimitri’s eyes widen, and there is a flush on his cheeks that hadn’t been there a few moments ago. Byleth wonders if the draft in the Goddess Tower is cold enough to warrant the reddening of faces. 

“Dimitri, you will be a great king, I’m certain of it,” he said, with conviction. "As for me...I will have to think this through, as you have said. Entrusting the Church of Seiros...to someone like me...there will surely be problems. I don’t know the first thing about faith, for one.”

“Professor, you must know that I — that is, we, have looked up to you, not only as our leader, but also as someone who has gained our unwavering trust and faith. You have carried us to new heights, have given us the wings to do so. We have achieved all that we have because of you.”

Dimitri’s eye was shining in reverence, as he looked at him with adoration.

“Dimitri…” Byleth’s chest felt like it was going to cave in. “I am not a god.” _I am not worthy_ , he does not say. _Please, do not put me in such a high pedestal where I can stand on equal ground with no one._

Dimitri gently took a hold of his hands, lacing their fingers together. “No,” he agreed softly. “No, you are not. You are my beloved…hm, yes. My beloved.”

Something clicks in his mind, then. Something he had been wanting to do, ever since the war started. Before the war, even. 

“My be… Professor?” He faintly heard Dimitri’s voice, calling out for him.

“That’s right,” he breathed. “Of course.” 

Helping people has always been what he’s wanted to do. Being an archbishop would surely be useful, as his influence would spread all over the continent. But..no. He was not ready for that yet. Not ready to be entrusted the rulership of the people, who would cling to him as their hope, their salvation.

He’d barely even managed to save Dimitri from the hell he was (and still is) going through. 

No. What he needed was time. Time to plan, to figure out just what it is he wanted to do. Strategy and warfare tactics were all he’d ever known, since even before he could talk. In a time where no such things were immediately useful, he would be of no use to anyone.

Yes, he knew what to do now.

Suddenly, he seized Dimitri’s hands, clutching them tightly, hoping his gratefulness would come across. “Dimitri...thank you.”

“Of — of course, professor,” Dimitri stammered, taken aback. “But...what for?”

“I think I’ve decided,” Byleth said, finally releasing his hold on the other. “On what I want to do.”

“Oh?”

“I will leave,” he said, completely missing the stricken expression on Dimitri’s face as soon as he uttered his words. “At least, for the time being. In times of peace, I don’t think I will be useful to anyone. Not like this. For now, I think I will travel. Learn all there is to know about what it means to live."

Byleth looked across the vast expanse of the monastery from the high windows of the tower. The wind gently caressed his face, reassuring, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"I will come back, though," he decided. There was no way he could ever leave them behind. "With more wisdom and guidance to offer."

Dimitri stayed quiet for a moment, listening intently. His hand trembled slightly from where he shoved it in his armor. 

“I cannot stop you,” he said finally, looking at him directly. There was a certain resignation in his eyes. “For all that you have done for us, I cannot ever hope to pay you back for everything. But this, if — if this shall make you happy, then so be it.”

“Dimitri?” Byleth asked, as he watched Dimitri pull back his cloak and give him a dagger. He’d suspected that Dimitri was going to give him something, but he had an inkling that it wasn’t this.

“For you… to cut your own destiny.”


End file.
